The Funeral
by Limerence
Summary: Jack/Ralph. An unexpected encounter at the funeral of an old friend leads to unforeseen circumstances. Ralph is unwillingly dragged into a dangerous spiral of revenge, while Jack fights off any competition for possession of Ralph's soul. Complete.
1. Requiem

**Title:** The Funeral

**Rating:** T (for now, that is)

**Summary:** Jack/Ralph. An unexpected encounter at the funeral of an old friend leads to circumstances neither could have predicted. Slash.

**A/N:** It's not going to be a light, fluffy read. In the slightest. I've really got into this particular pairing and wanted to explore a different relationship they may have had when they were older, after having been separated for a long time. This is** not **a sequel to "Nightmares" (in case anyone was thinking that). I am not sure how frequent the updates are going to be as of yet, but rest assured I will do my very best to get new chapters up. Reviews would make my day every single time and I hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies (and all of its characters) does not belong to me.

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A solitary, sodden crow sat motionlessly in the downpour, occasionally letting out a mournful caw and blinking slowly. Each time the wind pushed against its light frame, it swayed slightly atop its perch on the rusted wire fence that encircled the graveyard. As the bird stared through the haze of rain towards the miserable huddle of people not far off, it ruffled its drab feathers haughtily and turned its gaze away. It grew weary of the familiar sight of the vicar, his voice drowned out by the rumbling of the sky above, standing by an open, gaping grave.

The autumn afternoon was as dark as evening, while black thunderclouds swelled threateningly in the sky. The small crowd of mourners, who were sheltered under a rippling sea of dark umbrellas, huddled together for warmth. The bleak wind was twisting and bending the trees, sending their branches into a lifeless dance and stealing leaves to send floating away through the bitter air, while the persistent rain had turned the gravel underfoot to a slush which grated and growled as the chilled people shifted their feet. The only sound that rose above the strong wind was the sobbing of an elderly woman who clutched at her husband's arm with bony, desperate fingers.

Ralph tried in vain to ignore the awful noise, his insides curling with embarrassment. He stood with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his overcoat, with the collar turned up to protect the tender skin of his neck that could so easily have its warmth poached by the marauding wind. His blond hair was plastered to his forehead, and rainwater was constantly dripping from his fringe onto his face. A gruesome inquisitiveness was embedded nastily in his mind, and he found his eyes always drawn back to the plain black coffin that sat with an ancient patience for the moment it would be laid into the soil forever.

"Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives, and we will dwell in the house of the Lord forever…" The elderly vicar blinked blearily and gazed over the small group, his eyes misty with time as he continued to pray aloud. His small black prayer book was shaking slightly in his age-knotted hands, yet he spoke firmly and doggedly despite the rain, wind and the occasional rumble of thunder.

Ralph's fingers brushed against the small card in his pocket; a neat, sober leaflet detailing when and how Eric had passed away. His brow wrinkled slightly as he dwelt once again on how _un-_Eric-like it had been; very uniform, very straight-laced, with no mention of his brother.

Sam himself was standing slightly apart from the other people in the crowd, eyes gazing dully at the coffin and his scarf trailing haphazardly down his hunched back. The difference that time had made to his figure was shocking; the once bright blond hair had dulled and thinned until it was a faint, straw-like colour that lay in wisps over his skull. His face was much thinner, eyes sunken as though trying to hide themselves from the world. Overall, he seemed a weaker man. Ralph dragged his gaze away.

"In the hour of my death, call me and bid me come to you, that with your saints I may praise you forever and ever. Amen," finished the old vicar in a quavery voice. With that, the service came to a close.

"Amen," muttered Ralph, slightly too late, surprised at the effort it took for him to spit the words out. The silence was then only broken by the quiet, muffled sobs of the old woman. Ralph felt sick. No one moved as the coffin was lowered awkwardly and achingly into the cold earth. Ralph imagined Eric lying inside; hands laid gently against his chest and perhaps his head leaning ever so slightly to one side. It seemed impossible that his once dear friend was barely metres from him, yet separated infinitely by death.

The thunder cracked once more, and Ralph glanced up at the sky mulishly. The billowing clouds seemed almost to be getting lower as he watched. As the rain got even heavier, protestations broke out among the people and the crowd started to disperse; more umbrellas unfurling with metallic scrapes and thin hoods being dragged up damp scalps.

As the crowd started to move with a rumble of lowered voices, Ralph found himself swept along in the confusion, back towards the small church. He felt disorientated and slightly sick. He shook his head and pushed roughly past an elderly couple to avoid the oak church doors that greedily awaited him, ignoring their disapproving mutters as he stumbled away from the building. He swore under his breath as the rain trickled down his neck.

"Ralph? Ralph!" a voice called frantically behind him. He gritted his teeth, irrationally angry at being made to stop in the rain and that he had been unable to slip away unnoticed. "Where are you going?"

Ralph turned slowly and found himself faced with Sam for the first time in nearly fifteen years. The twin's eyes were rimmed with red, and he spoke with the nasal tone of someone who has been crying until they were too tired to cry any more. Ralph struggled for words, rendered with an inability to think properly. Even having been faced with his own grief many, many times over; he found that he was unable to express any comforting words to anybody else in their times of sorrow. Sam stared at him in confusion, starting to breathe in hiccupping gasps, as though on the verge of weeping. His sodden hair was spiky and dripping.

"Where are you going?" he repeated determinedly, glaring at Ralph through bloodshot eyes. Ralph glanced towards the graveyard, beyond which his car was parked, before turning his despairing eyes back to Sam.

"I was just – just off for a walk. For a bit. You know – to clear my head," he stuttered finally, raising an awkward hand to run through his hair; a habit picked up many years ago in a tropical hell under the sun. He still bit his nails.

Sam strode up to him and stopped, breathing heavily. He seemed at a total loss at what to say and Ralph looked away as his eyes began to shimmer with grief. He was about to put a tentative hand on his friend's shoulder, but Sam suddenly knocked his arm away and seized him viciously by the front of his coat. Ralph bit his lip and leant back slightly, worried about the state his friend was in.

"I need to tell you something about him," Sam hissed desperately, shaking Ralph's coat lapels with surprising violence, "Something about my brother." There was a pregnant pause, while the two men stared at each other, before Ralph nodded and tried to gently disengage Sam's grasping hands from the front of his coat. The twin's fingers were pale in the cold, and slippery from rainwater. Eventually, Ralph escaped his grip and took a few steps backwards. "Come back here later when everyone has gone," Sam ordered, scrubbing away tears with the sleeve of his jacket and sniffing. Ralph nodded, eyeing the other man with apprehension.

"I'll be here at eight, Sam. We can talk then, I promise."

Ralph watched as his friend's expression relaxed into something more peaceful and two fat tears seeped out of his eyes and down his cheeks, mingling instantly with the rain that stained his skin. Ralph flushed and looked away, unwilling to be a spectator of this grief. He stepped forward briefly to lay a hand on Sam's shoulder, before turning away and hurrying towards the gate, footsteps splashing noisily.

"I remember you," muttered Sam, tears choking his words before the wind stole them and the rain pounded them mercilessly into the ground.

* * *

Ralph strode out of the cemetery gate into the cobbled street, shaking with suppressed grief. He had never imagined that Sam would ever behave in such an uncharacteristic way, even at the very pinnacle of such great anguish. The quiet country lane was lined with a row of willow trees, beyond which a grey lake could be seen; the surface shivering as the distant raindrops broke the mirror-like surface. Wiping a hand roughly over his damp cheek, Ralph was rummaging in his pocket for car keys when a silky voice penetrated his stupor.

"Long time."

Time stood still, and Ralph's fingers crushed his car keys in the sudden panic. For a moment, he concentrated on steadying his breathing and ignoring the way his heart was thumping painfully against his ribcage. He recognised that voice. It had grown harsher and deeper over the time spent apart, but there was no mistaking the silken drawl that still sometimes wound its way into Ralph's darkest nightmares. He turned his head slowly, unwilling to see what was before him.

Ralph's eyes met with icy blue. The sudden shock of the dangerous proximity with his old rival brought him sharply to his senses and he took a couple of quick steps backwards. The rain continued to fall, soaking through his coat and making goose bumps rise on his skin.

Jack Merridew pushed himself away from the low, dry stone wall he had been leaning elegantly on and matched Ralph's paces with a slow, casual approach of his own. Ralph swallowed, forcing himself to stand still and not obey his body's natural instinct to sprint in the opposite direction. His throat was as dry as though he had just been lost in the desert.

There was still something predatorial in the way Jack walked, as though each footstep was a rung on the ladder to blood. Ralph's gaze flickered between the two eyes watching him. It was as though there were twin souls inhabiting one body; it seemed to Ralph that each eye contained new and confusing condemnations.

The adult Jack Merridew was tall, at least six foot, and his hair was almost as messy as Ralph could remember it; soaked and spiky with rainwater. His face was angular, more mature, and slight lines were already beginning to form between his eyebrows as though his features were often pulled into an angry scowl. The freckles had faded almost entirely, and gave way to a pale complexion that seemed almost unhealthy.

He was dressed in a dark blue pair of jeans and a slightly faded, black leather jacket. The raindrops glistened wetly against the waterproof material and also on Jack's pale skin. Ralph attempted comparing this man against the wild, vicious savage that still plagued his nightmares, and shuddered. He summoned up his courage to speak.

"Hello, Jack," he said composedly, after a while, "How have you been?"

"Surviving," said Jack smoothly yet quickly, as though he had been waiting all along for the other man to pull himself together, "And yourself?"

Ralph's eyes flickered between Jacks' as though hoping to uncover some hint of deception and malice, but was unable to quite decipher his true motives. He forced his face to relax, feeling the muscles unknot ever so slightly.

"Pretty good, thanks. I wasn't expecting to see you here," he said carefully. Jack cocked an eyebrow.

"And why might that be?" he asked lightly, "Surely I am just as likely to be here as you are."

"After what you did to them?" Ralph asked incredulously, abandoning all pretence of formality and politeness. As soon as the words had escaped his tongue, he wished he had not said them.

The air thickened between them as Jack's eyes darkened for a moment. For the first few minutes of their renewed acquaintance, there had been the unspoken agreement that neither would mention _it._ Or what had happened. Ralph had abruptly broken that fragile barrier, and now no one could deny what both were thinking.

The two men eyed each other challengingly in the rain. Ralph became suddenly aware that Jack was not only taller than him, but had filled out unexpectedly since their time on the island. The image of a thin, bony boy in shorts was crushed by this new and threatening physique of quite a powerful man. Ralph raised his chin slightly and stood up straighter. Jack smirked.

"Would you like to go and get a pint somewhere?" he asked suddenly. Ralph stared at him uncomprehendingly, feeling the rain seep finally through his thick overcoat.

"A pint?" he asked dumbly. Jack rolled his eyes and nodded. Ralph let the possibilities of this choice flicker through his mind like a film reel, each one depicting a scene more grisly and bleak than the last. But surely Jack had changed over the years since _then_. He realised Jack was still waiting impatiently for an answer.

Alright," Ralph said eventually, still attempting to register the abrupt change in mood, "Not today though. I'm – I don't think today would be…" Jack cut him off with a curt nod, then stepped forward slightly, holding a small white card between his index and middle finger. Ralph eyed it warily. With a long-suffering sigh, Jack shoved it unceremoniously into the blond's grip and stepped back; hands immediately in the pockets of his leather jacket.

"It's my number," he explained, blue eyes observing one of the weather-beaten willow trees with mild curiosity. Bringing his bright gaze back to Ralph, he added, "Give me a call in the next few days. We'll arrange something."

Ralph nodded. Jack mirrored him, almost mockingly, with a light smile, before turning and making his unhurried way over to where a red, glossy Triumph motorcycle was parked nonchalantly by a few other cars. Ralph stared after him, numb with shock. Jack was placing a helmet over his flame-like hair, concealing his face as though readying himself for an execution. With a violent shudder, Ralph jerked away and forced himself to move. Walking shakily to his own car, he unlocked and opened the driver's door before collapsing into the seat, hands gripping the cool steering wheel tightly.

For several moments after Ralph slammed the car door, there was overwhelming silence. He could feel his heart beating in his throat, and the muscles that were holding themselves taut in his neck and back. The windscreen was half steamed up, and he could feel the unpleasant cool of the rainwater in his clothes. Crumpled in his fist was the small white card. Fuck. After _fifteen_ years of peace, his world had been uprooted and scattered around with vicious intent. Jack Merridew.

A clammy, surreal feeling was creeping over him, and he jammed the keys into the ignition to distract himself, flicking on the windscreen wipers. The whining of the engine was not, however, enough to drown out the rich, throaty roar of Jack's glittering motorcycle as it sped along the line of beautiful willows and around the bend at the end of the road.


	2. Secret

**A/N:** Welcome to the second chapter, my dear minions. They're turning out to be pretty long, which is rather unusual for me! Thank you, sweet kind reviewers, for warming my heart during these cold, wet, winter days we are having (in England that is). Those of you who are currently enjoying the sun… I am feeling the burn of envy. It warms me in the bitter English weather. Mwahahaha. But yes, anyway, on with the tale. Please feel free to review!

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies (and all of its characters) does not belong to me. If it did… it would be _very very different_.

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Ralph drummed his fingers restlessly against the steering wheel as he waited for the traffic lights to turn green. Rain was pattering ceaselessly against the windscreen, and the dull throb of the wipers seemed to ingrain itself in his mind with each renewed arc. He felt his eyes glazing over, and his vision retreated to some dark place. After what seemed like an eternity, the light turned emerald, and Ralph, dragging himself back to reality, accelerated smoothly away from the busy high street and onto the road that led to the church.

The hedges and trees passed like silent spirits in the deepening dusk surrounding the car, raising their wind-tossed branches in mutinous respect as Ralph's car passed them. Uneasy thoughts were trailing through his head, and though he didn't want to admit it, he was not too comfortable with the idea of being alone with a grief-stricken Sam. There was something wrong with the situation that he could not put his finger on; something intangible and barely there.

Ten minutes passed in silence before Ralph switched the crackling radio on. The sudden screech and babble of noise, however, was not enough to drown out his fears; it merely blared against his eardrums with an annoying insistency. He turned the device off again hastily, and the silence swooped back, even more deafening than before.

The road became cobbled, and soon the tiny church loomed up out of the darkness. Ralph, feeling as though his engine was obtrusive in the quiet lane, slowed his vehicle down to a crawl. Eventually, as gently as was possible, he switched off the engine and applied the handbrake. Now, the only sounds were the tinny pattering of the rain on the roof and the thumping of his own heart in his chest. The seconds ticked by. It was not that Ralph was _scared _as such, it was merely the fact that he had no idea what he was doing. Who was he to comfort Sam when they had been perfect strangers for about fifteen years? He chewed at his lower lip, eyes worriedly scanning the graveyard.

The moon was bright and blooming, sending silvery rays down to touch lightly on the tips of twigs, tombstones and the mirror-like puddles that kept a silent watch. Due to the bitter cold, some droplets of water on the bushes had started to turn to ice, and Ralph kept his hands deep in his warm pockets as he walked up the sloshing gravel to the little church.

* * *

The inside of the church was cool and crisp. Ralph's footsteps echoed softly as he walked slowly down the aisle between the dark rows of pews. The only light came from a shimmering display of memorial candles, presumably lit by grieving family members or friends. Ralph spared a second to lean forward and read the inscription behind the candles before retreating and continuing his pacing.

The dancing light reflected beautifully off the intricate gold leaf in the more exquisite of the paintings, and off the crimson berries of some dark, trailing tendril of leaves that adorned the windowsills. Despite the seriousness of the upcoming situation, Ralph found himself mesmerised by the flickering quality of the light upon the ornate golden crucifix that hung resplendent in the dead centre of the front wall. The old wooden clock, ticking gravely from a sideboard, told him the time was nearly a quarter past eight. Ralph furrowed his brow. Why would Sam be late for a meeting he had initiated, especially one that seemed so important? Admittedly, there was something very definitely wrong with his anguished friend that he could not possibly begin to understand.

"Sam?" he eventually called with trepidation. The invisible phantoms that lurked in the rafters caught his words and threw them back distorted. The candles fluttered like miniature flags in the dim room, their soft, golden light flickering on the huge metal pipes of the rickety-looking organ. Ralph sighed and stared around, trying not to feel threatened by the stern and noble atmosphere inside the small church.

Gilded motes of dust floated lazily in the air, just visible by the small shafts of light sent by the dwindling candles. Ralph wandered vaguely towards a pew, and sank down upon the hard, cold wood, eyes unfocused and staring at the candles as they danced softly for him. A lone shilling was lying despondently on the floor by his feet, dusty and grimy. Ralph slid it along the rough flagstone with the toe of his shoe, listening without interest to the barely audible, grating sound it made against the floor.

"You came," said a quiet voice.

Ralph whipped around in shock, heart suddenly hammering against the column of his throat. He had been so utterly certain he was alone in the dusk. Yet there was Sam, standing by the golden glow of light, securing a freshly-lit candle into one of the tiny brackets, eyes watching his own actions attentively. He was saturated with rainwater, but looking slightly more calm than he had been previously that day. There were no tear stains on his cheeks, but his eyes were swollen and painful looking, shreds of evidence for his great loss.

Voice constricted with shock, Ralph managed to croak, "Yeah. I made it." He had half-risen from his pew in his sudden fright, but now sat heavily back down, trying fruitlessly to ignore the heightened sensation of the accelerated blood rushing through his veins.

Sam wandered towards the pews and settled himself in the one in front of Ralph's, turning around so as to talk with him. Suddenly, he raised his hands and pulled off the scarf around his neck; jerking it away as though it was choking him. Ralph did not let his expression change, but watched as Sam disposed of his coat in much the same way. As soon as the garments were on the floor, he visibly relaxed, rolling his shoulders as though a great weight had just been lifted from him.

"So, what's going on, Sam?" asked Ralph after a moment's pause, not looking at Sam but turning his gaze to the silently beautiful altar, above which Christ's death was eternally bound. A flower arrangement, rich in heliotrope and forest green, was standing to the left, where it was starting to droop and grow crisp. Unexplainably startled by this, Ralph tore his gaze away and turned to Sam again, who did not appear to have heard the question, but was staring at his own clasped hands.

"Sam?" asked Ralph gently, extending a hand to gently tap the man on the shoulder. Sam jumped at the soft contact, and stared up at Ralph, who nodded encouragingly, blue eyes wide and sincere in the dim golden light.

"What did you want to tell me about Eric?" Ralph asked quietly, trying to keep his voice steady and calm. His hands felt clammy, so he gripped the together tightly for reassurance. Silence reigned for several seconds, while the very bones of the old building creaked in the strong gusts of wind outside. The church seemed almost comforting around them; an ancient cocoon to protect them from the cruel outside.

No answer came, so Ralph decided to wait until one was offered. The smell of smoke brushed past his nostrils and he cocked an eye towards the source; one of the candles on the memorial stand had burnt out and was dripping glutinously to the floor. The smoke rose in an intricately woven spire, eventually trailing off and disappearing into the half-dark.

"He was so strong," croaked Sam suddenly, breaking the quiet with his loud, hoarse words, "He was always the one who… coped w-with everything." Tears were beginning to well up in his eyes once again, threatening to spill his grief onto his cheeks once again. Ralph immediately leant forward.

"No," he said soothingly, desperately, "Calm down, Sam. Try not to get upset. Please?" His words were useless. Sam drew in a long, shuddering breath and pressed his lips together, eyes squeezed shut and tears pouring down his face. Ralph bit his lip, looking around out of habit to check that nobody was around before patting Sam awkwardly on the back, trying to stem the flow of hysteria as best he could. It was useless. He could hardly bear to stay sitting as Sam sobbed in great gasps of precious air.

"Sam, come on!" Ralph hissed, embarrassed. Running an anxious hand through his hair, he glanced around, at a loss for what to do. Suddenly, with lightning speed, Sam's hand shot out as Ralph attempted to rise from the pew, locking pale fingers around his wrist and clutching painfully. As Ralph sat back down heavily, Sam turned his pale, grief-stained face towards his friend, a mask of pure sadness and self-loathing.

"Okay," said Ralph, patting Sam's wrist tartly until the clawing fingers dropped away limply. "It's going to be okay. Just tell me what's wrong, and I'll do what I can, alright?"

Sam rocked slightly, arms wrapped tightly around his knees and tears coursing silently down his pale cheeks as he nodded his assent. The awful words seemed to be on the tip of his tongue; deep inhalations and choked gasps replaced his usually fluent speech.

"It w-wasn't Eric," he said with a sudden choke, screwing up his mouth as though the words were poisonous. Fresh, fat tears spilled over the red rims of his eyes and trickled silently from his face. Ralph leant forward, looking sternly at the other man with renewed intent. Fear was blossoming inside his belly, with the sick feeling of apprehension.

"What do you mean?" Ralph asked, quite calmly, trying hard to suppress the tremor in his voice. When the other man did not reply, he asked brutally, "What are you trying to say, Sam?"

Fresh tears brimmed over Sam's eyes and dripped silently onto the cold flagstones, where they shivered and settled. Ralph's heart was hammering inside him, attempting to burst through the protective layers of flesh and bone and scream. The anticipation of the answer was thrumming strongly in his head, almost taking over his senses. He licked his lips.

"I did something bad," Sam said, moisture becoming apparent at his nose and mouth as well as his eyes as he climbed higher into hysteria, "And you can't tell anyone, Ralph!" he added shrilly, raising his head and fixing his friend with a watery, accusing glare. Ralph jumped in surprise at the sudden and shocking change in mood.

"Of course!" he said hurriedly, eyeing Sam's burning gaze with caution, "I won't tell a soul, I swear."

"If you do," stammered Sam, gesturing wildly with his hands despite having no comprehension of what he was trying to convey, "I-I'll kill you! I mean it!"

Ralph almost rolled his eyes with the pitiful absurdity of the situation. This morning, he could not possibly have foreseen the bewildering events that were currently unfolding around him. Fear flickered momentarily in the pit of his stomach before he replied, "Okay, I promise. I swear."

"Thank you," muttered the twin, almost incomprehensibly, sinking back into his pew from which he had risen in his fright. His eyes were illuminated with the glow from the dying candles, reflecting their shared instability and fear. Sam wetted his lips nervously, before silently forming the beginning of a word and stopping dead. He shut his eyes. Ralph resisted the urge to smack the words out of him. Eventually, Sam spoke, painfully.

"I… well. Y-you see, I'm not Sam."

"Yes, you are," said Ralph, worriedly. The wind was strengthening; the stained-glass windows rattled in their frames as the gusts pressed urgently against them.

"I'm Eric." The words were soft.

Ralph shook his head slowly, uncomprehendingly. A shadow of unease was growing in his mind, blotting out the last shreds of rational though. "Eric committed suicide, Sam, you know he did. We buried him today, remember?"

"No," was the answer, as the twin shook his head, "It was _Sam _we buried."

Suddenly, everything became very still. The man stared at Ralph warily and anxiously, eyes not moving from where they trained on Ralph's blank face. The seconds ticked past almost noisily. Cold shock was pouring into Ralph's stomach. There was no way that what the man, the _imposter_, before him was saying could be true. He began to shake his head, slowly at first until he leapt to his feet and shouted, "No!"

"Ralph!" Eric snapped, a scared look suddenly jumping to his puffy, tear-tracked face.

Ralph stumbled as he retreated, trying to force the new and unwelcome information into his mind._ This could not be_. He felt as though the once sturdy earth beneath his feet had been suddenly whisked away and he was falling. Sickness swirled briefly before his eyes. "No, _no_!"

"Shut up!" hissed Eric, hurrying towards Ralph and grabbing the front of his coat, shaking the lapels with hysterical force as his voice rose to a scream, "Shut _up_!"

They froze; Eric's fists clutching at the material on Ralph's coat. His eyes were flickering between Ralph's rapidly, as though pleading with one after the other. Breathing heavily, Ralph slowly pushed his attacker away and staggered backwards, sinking down into a pew across the aisle from Eric's, who also resumed his seat. For several minutes, each of the men sat in silence, gathering their thoughts together and regaining their breath.

"Sorry," Ralph panted at long last, "I'm sorry. That was… unnecessary." He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, noting with distaste the damp that had gathered in the struggle.

"No, I should be sorry," said Eric, burying his face in his hands and letting out a choked, gurgling groan. He sniffed loudly, tears trickling through his fingers, "I never should have told you."

"You shouldn't have done it," retorted Ralph without thinking. Immediately, he bit his lip with regret.

"I had to," snarled Eric, "You don't know what it's like! When I found him lying there, I knew I had to do it. I…" he trailed off, shutting his eyes and releasing two tremulous tears that fell to the floor and shattered like glass. He let out a shuddering gasp, "You should hear the things they s-say about him, Ralph. Such horrible, c-cruel things. I _won't_ have his name dragged through the dirt."

Eric glared at Ralph challengingly, as though daring him to speak a negative word. Ralph stared at his friend with wide eyes, keeping his mouth firmly shut. Christ stared too, from where he hung on the wall. Eric glanced around uneasily.

"I really am sorry," he said again, turning his head to watch Ralph out of the corner of his eye, "But you were the only person I could tell. You're the last person," he added with a watery smile, before it melted silently away. Ralph didn't know what to say, merely nodding non-committally. Suddenly, a feverish look came into Eric's eye. "I have to leave now."

In one fluid motion he was on his feet, winding his scarf around his neck and pushing his arms roughly through the sleeve of his coat. After two attempts to button the garment properly, he abandoned the task. Eric's hand shook as he raised it to wipe away the wetness from his face, before he strode from his pew and down the aisle towards the great oak doors.

Ralph opened his mouth to say something, _anything,_ just expecting the words to fall from his tongue, but nothing happened. He watched sombrely as his friend became murkier in the shadows at the far end of the old, cool building.

"I'll come and see you, Ralph," said Eric, halting in his tracks and turning to face the other man. The deepening gloom hollowed out the contours of his thin face, giving him a skeletal, eerie look. The delicate bones in his hand stood out as he pulled open the heavy doors, and he immediately bowed his head against the icy wind. "I expect you need to talk about… you know, that time," he said before he disappeared, "Maybe as much as I do."

* * *

Ralph pressed his face into his pillow, trying to force sleep to take him away. The alarm clock on his bedside table told him it was almost three in the morning. Groaning, he clenched his fists against the sheets, clawing at them with tired frustration. The events of the previous day were still reeling through his mind at a breakneck speed, and it was simply impossible to stop the thoughts as they appeared.

Eventually, he crawled to the other side of the double bed, relishing the coolness of the sheets that had been untouched by his warm body. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced over at the dresser, on which sat a crumpled white card bearing neat, dark letters. He became still, feeling a strange flutter of nervousness stir deep in his stomach at the prospect of calling the number, and nibbled at his lower lip.

The sound of the traffic outside was relatively quiet, despite the fact Ralph's flat was situated in the centre of London. Nothing was particularly remarkable. But then slowly, with a purring growl, a motorcycle's engine revved up outside, accelerating to a climax before fading away into the distance. With half-lidded eyes, Ralph imagined a gleam of glossy red evaporating into the gloom.


	3. Daring

**A/N:** As usual, my greatest thanks towards everyone who has reviewed my story so far; it means a great deal to me. Thank you to the anonymous **Kitty**,too. So folks, I still haven't decided on how long this story is going to be… but I have the future plot outlined, and some of the evil, evil things I'm going to put our little friends through. I would adore and cherish your feedback if you have any :D haha.

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies (and all of its characters) does not belong to me.

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November was fully unfurling its wings as Ralph hurried back to his flat after a day at work. The sky overhead was darkened prematurely by the myriad of bruised, blue clouds, and the occasional growls of thunder sent the ominous threat of rain. The trees that lined Ralph's road had become black silhouettes against the gloomy sky; tall beasts that swayed eerily in the breeze. The wind's chilly fingers seemed to find every inch of exposed skin and run icy nails across it, drawing up goosebumps.

The heavens opened just as Ralph was fumbling with his keys to open the main door to his block of flats. Swearing under his breath, he forced the right one into the keyhole and pulled the door swiftly open, slipping inside just as the rain began to set in with full force. He let out his breath in a sigh of relief after his successful escape, shaking the light droplets of water from his blond hair.

It was silent in the cool hall. Ralph rubbed the water from the glass face of his watch; half past six. Once again he had stayed in the workshop far longer than was necessary; even longer than Thomas, his apprentice, ever worked. Shaking his head in weary disbelief, he turned and made his way up the dark stairwell towards the second storey.

Once inside his flat, he closed the door before hanging his coat on one of the brass hooks in the hall. The darkness inside the small suite of rooms was oppressive, and he peered warily into each murky corner as he passed through into the bedroom. Although he would never admit it, Ralph found himself checking over his shoulder whenever he was in the dark. Whispering shadows still capered in his dreams each night, and sometimes they would appear to stalk him from unconsciousness into the real world.

Ralph shuddered suddenly, snapping his head around to stare at the bathroom door as a gust of wind moved it with a loud creak. For several seconds, he listened to his pulse hammer against his throat, before relaxing gradually. Annoyed and relieved, he marched into the bathroom and slammed the tiny window, knocking over a bottle of aftershave with a clatter. The clear fluid inside shimmered from side to side for a few moments before settling; the meniscus steadying the surface with its grip on the glass. He sighed and bowed his head, staring dully at the limescale coating the plughole before turning away from the window and moving silently out of the ensuite bathroom.

Slipping off his jacket and tossing it on the bed, Ralph suddenly noticed the small white card sitting innocently on the dresser. In the moment he stood still, he could suddenly hear the sounds of the traffic outside his bedroom window. Had Jack really meant what he had said about going for a drink? _Of course,_ snapped a curt, scholarly voice in his head, _why else would he have given you that? _Ralphs stroked his lip softly with a finger, wondering whether or not now was a good time to call. His pulse tapped gently against his throat as he picked up the card and walked slowly to the telephone.

* * *

The bar was crowded and noisy, typical of the Friday evening the two young men had deigned to be there. After seating Ralph firmly in a shadowy booth and ordering him to stay there, Jack disappeared into the crowd of people who stood between their seat and the bar, to order some drinks. Ralph shrugged off his coat as he settled down, gazing around at the multitude of faces and colours swimming vaguely in the dim light. Tiny droplets of rainwater scattered over the table as he tossed the coat carelessly to the side and he shivered, grateful for the warmth that soon encapsulated him tenderly. A record player on the bar was playing some soft, swaying jazz, and Ralph found that the music soothed his stretched nerves slightly.

Presently, Jack returned with a couple of bottles and placed one firmly down in front of his companion. Ralph stared warily at him as Jack wriggled elegantly out of his leather jacket and dropped it onto the bench next to him, swearing with unnatural aggression as small change rolled out of the pocket and dropped to the floor with a clatter. He bent and retrieved the money, shoving it into his trouser pocket, before sitting down with a contented sigh.

"Cheers," Jack said grandly, "to re-acquaintances." He took a long, deep draught from his drink. The blond raised his bottle before taking a sip and setting it back down, hands immediately back in his lap. He felt slightly uncomfortable about the whole idea still; there was something almost predatorial in the way Jack sat; the way his icy eyes flickered so quickly between subjects.

"You look slightly nervous, Ralph," Jack remarked lightly, "Never been here before?"

"No, I have," said Ralph, shaking off his insecurities and turning to face Jack, who was drumming his fingers softly and slowly on the side of his glass, with rippling clinks, "A couple of times, anyway. Not for a while though."

"I was half expecting you not to call," Jack said easily, leaning back lazily and regarding Ralph from the murkiness of the booth, "You seemed slightly, you know, wound up, the other day."

"I had half a mind not to call," Ralph replied bluntly, "I never expected to see you again in my entire life, let alone right after seeing Eric again, you know?" Immediately after the words had left his mouth, he bit his tongue viciously; colour flooding his face and dampness erupting in a line down the centre of his chest. There was a horrible moment of silence in which Ralph kept his burning face impassive.

"_Sam_, you mean?" asked Jack, furrowing his brow and staring hard at Ralph.

"S-Sam. I meant to say Sam," Ralph corrected himself rapidly, squirming slightly in his seat and twisting his sweaty hands together under the table. He felt sick. "They always were so alike, weren't they?"

"True. It's an easy mistake to make," said Jack with a sad smile, taking another sip of beer and settling back into his seat once more, head resting lazily against the side of the booth. Ralph closed his eyes momentarily, thanking God for small mercies and feeling the tension in his muscles begin to loosen.

"Such a team, those boys," commented Jack thoughtfully, eyes growing hazy as he gazed past Ralph's shoulder and out of the window, "Such hard workers, they were."

"Yeah, you'd know," said Ralph derisively, throwing his companion a look of disgust, "They wouldn't dare to disappoint you, would they? Not for one _bloody_ second." His words came out unexpectedly harshly; indeed, he was surprised by his own brutality. Jack, however, seemed perfectly unruffled by Ralph's outburst.

"No," Jack said with a wicked smirk, leaning his chin on his hand and tapping a long finger against his pale, hollow cheek, "Who would dare to disappoint me?" He flashed Ralph a smug smile, cackling with laughter as Ralph turned away in repulsion.

"You're mad, you are," said the blond, picking up his drink and draining it. He folded his arms and glared malevolently at the redhead, who, humming unconcernedly, had whisked away their empty bottles and was heading back to the bar for more. Ralph gazed after him as the white of his T-shirt was lost in the gaggle of people, shaking his head gently in near-disbelief. There were, of course, many great differences between him and the boy on the island, but there were such poignant similarities; quirks and mannerisms that flared up suddenly from under the surface, catching him off-guard.

* * *

"So, you're a _carpenter_?" asked Jack incredulously, several pints later, leaning forwards on his elbows and studying Ralph closely, as though attempting to catch a lie in his eyes. Ralph flushed under his scrutiny, shaking his head wryly at the man's disbelief.

"What's so wrong with that?" he asked with a laugh, raising his bottle and swigging clumsily, keeping an eye on Jack as he drank. Jack shook his head like a confused puppy, stirring an absent-minded finger around in his bowl of salted peanuts. The effects of the alcohol were slowing his thoughts and making Ralph's words more difficult to think through.

"I didn't know they still existed," admitted Jack wryly, smiling sheepishly, "Sounds… biblical." He chuckled and continued, "I would have thought you'd be doing something in government, you know?" Jack said, slurring his words ever so slightly, "You seemed well suited to leadership back then…" he trailed off, blue eyes suddenly wide open and watching Ralph nervously.

"I decided to take a break from that," muttered Ralph gruffly, lowering his eyes and slouching back onto the bench, looking away from his companion. Jack started forward immediately, almost upsetting the dish of peanuts, leaning forward to peer inquisitively at the man's face, which was turned from him as Ralph picked at the loose thread that trailed wispily from his cuff.

"I'm sorry," Jack said uncertainly, biting his lip and sitting back in his seat, "I didn't mean to bring that up again. Especially after the other day, and everything. You know."

"Yeah, I know," said Ralph wearily, rubbing his hands over his face and sighing. He was feeling relaxed after their evening; too relaxed in fact. His hands were not operating as perfectly as they should have been, and the haze in the bar was warmer and more humid as his the alcohol seeped silently into his system. "What about you, then, Merridew? Job? Girlfriend?"

"Aren't we past the surname stage, Ralph?" Jack asked almost coyly, watching his companion with a bright, inquisitive gaze. Ralph shrugged lazily and nodded.

"Jack."

"That's better," the redhead said brightly, flashing Ralph a gleam of sharp, white teeth. He popped a peanut into his mouth, chewed busily, and brushed off his long fingers with a remarkable grace. "I'm a photographer," he answered eventually, glancing up at Ralph with a furtive, curious expression; almost as though he were waiting for approval, "I've turned my flat into a studio."

"Interesting," said Ralph, steepling his fingers together and regarded Jack with an appraising eye, "No singing career, then? Or did you decide to -,"

"Take a break," they finished simultaneously, grinning. Jack nodded, silvery laughter escaping his lips and dancing across the table, "Yes, I wasn't good for much after my voice broke, apparently," he added, the smile fading from his face. Ralph remained silent, not sure what to say.

"So I ended up with a place at art school, instead," Jack finished, wrinkling his brow as he remembered. Smiling vaguely, he gestured towards Ralph's glass, "Another?"

Ralph glanced at his watch. The numbers floated into their respective places as he concentrated, before he sat up straight with a look of indignation. "Eleven o'clock!" he said in shock, staring up at Jack with wide eyes.

"What's the matter Ralph?" Jack whispered softly, eyes glittering wickedly, "Out past bedtime?"

"Piss off!" Ralph exclaimed with a laugh, as Jack smirked quietly to himself, "It's just I didn't realise quite how long we'd been in here. Time flies, evidently," he added sarcastically, lifting his bottle to drain the last, slightly warm drops of beer into his tongue, where they teased his taste buds for a moment. "I should be getting back. I've got to be at work by nine."

"Come on, Ralph," said Jack, leaning back languorously in his seat and stretching both arms; muscles tightening in his stomach, "You're a big boy. You can surely stay out for a little longer. Come and see my studio."

Ralph stood up, suddenly realising that he was rather drunker than he had assumed. He cracked his neck from side to side, enjoying the release of tension, before stooping to pick up his coat. After a struggle to fit his arms through the sleeves without overbalancing, he turned to Jack and watched patiently as the redhead slipped into his jacket without trouble, running a casual hand through messy hair and smiling at his companion.

"I'd love to see it," said Ralph honestly, "but I shouldn't really get back too late. It'll be a nightmare getting up, especially with a hangover."

"Come on, Ralph," said Jack in a dark, challenging voice that carried the smallest possible hint of a threat, "Break the rules a little."

Ralph chewed his thumbnail, a habit never dropped for fifteen years. Jack was watching him closely; glittering eyes following his every move. Ralph flushed slightly, unused to being scrutinised so carefully.

"Maybe," he said eventually, realising that his companion was growing impatient. Jack's hair was ruffled from pulling on his jacket; standing out at new and interesting angles. The white cotton of his T-shirt was stretched tight across his collarbone, and Ralph found himself almost envious of the thick, powerful muscles that joined neck to shoulders.

"Earth to Ralph," Jack said dryly, cocking an eyebrow as Ralph jerked from his reverie.

"Sorry," he muttered, raising his eyes and smiling vaguely at Jack.

"We'll go back to mine," the redhead insisted, beginning to stalk leisurely towards the exit. He weaved his way through the small gaggles of people with Ralph following, "I've got some stuff I think you'd be interested in."

* * *

Jack's unmistakeable motorcycle was parked outside; the glossy hue of the body retreating to a deep, wine red in the dark. The wind ruffled their hair as the pair made their way towards it; hopping over puddles that had been left by the evening's sudden rain; throwing remarks to each other as they walked hurriedly through the cold. Jack threw his leg over the seat and gripped the handles, beginning to ready the engine.

"She's gorgeous, isn't she?" Jack asked huskily, running an admiring hand over the bike's flank and glancing up at Ralph, who nodded wordlessly. Jack then leaned forward and twisted his hand, revving the motor up aggressively. The way he lowered himself against the motorcycle, Ralph decided, was tender; powerful; almost sensual.

"Coming?" Jack asked, turning his head and watching Ralph through half-lidded eyes. Ralph stood stock still; it was impossible to tell that there was an internal battle raging inside him.

Jack revved the engine impatiently, the tendons in his forearm standing out as he stared at Ralph insistently out of keen blue eyes. His thigh muscle was taut under his jeans as he prepared to kick-start. He patted the seat behind him; eyes daring Ralph to join him.

"Fuck it," muttered Ralph eventually, hopping off the kerb and sliding a leg over the seat behind Jack. It was precarious. "Where do I hold on?" he asked mulishly.

"My waist," Jack said; voice drifting lazily back through the crisp air. Ralph placed his hands lightly on either side of Jack's body, slightly nervous. Suddenly, Jack threw his weight down upon the pedal and the motorcycle roared to life; Ralph jumped horribly and muttered curses under his breath, heart hammering.

As the bike drew away from the pavement, the cool wind rushed through Ralph's hair, clearing his head and sending oxygen flooding like water into him. His proximity with Jack seemed surreal; it was his worst nightmare come true, yet it felt exciting; liberating. The leather was cool under his hands, and the deep scent of it filled his nostrils wonderfully. Jack suddenly accelerated terrifically, laughing wildly in the night air and causing Ralph to clutch at him in panic.

As they sped along the streets of London, Ralph closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of the wind ruffling his hair, and the anticipation of this dangerous move. It was a shaky, daring feeling that he could not quite describe, yet it consumed him greedily as the shadows of the night swallowed two of them up.


	4. Midnight

**A/N:** Hello everyone, sorry for the slow update. This story is proving extremely challenging for me to write, but your beautiful reviews are enough to spur me on. I can't thank each and every one of you enough! I really hope the chapters to come will be satisfactory.

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies (and all of its characters) does not belong to me.

--------------

Ralph's eyes were closed; cheek pressed firmly against the leather that strained across Jack's back. The wind was rushing past him with breath-taking speed, whipping colour into his cheeks and stinging his exposed flesh. The fingers that gripped the leather of Jack's jacket were stiff with cold; knuckles standing out white through his tanned skin.

Horrible thoughts reeled endlessly through his mind; each one becoming more and more reckless than before. What if Jack hadn't changed, and was constructing this masquerade in order to ensnare him? What if the hunt was continuing? A wave of nausea swept through Ralph suddenly, dampening his brow and palms so that he had to redouble his grip around Jack's midsection. Jack pressed further back against him; Ralph could feel the sinews in his back shifting as he did so.

His proximity to Jack was almost overwhelming, filling him with a heady sense of danger and daring. He opened his eyes a crack; just enough to see the sharp angle of the hunter's jaw and his dark hair rippling as the breeze streaked through it. Drawing in a shuddering breath, Ralph watched the trees and houses fly past like phantoms without wings.

Then Jack braked the motorcycle sharply, causing Ralph to clutch his waist in shock. The sudden absence of the roaring engine made the still, cool air seem even more silent than it would have been. Ralph gazed up at the building they had parked outside; a large, spacious looking terraced house with ivy trailing haphazardly up the white stone walls. His mouth fell open in shock.

"This is your place?" Ralph asked incredulously, running his eyes jealously over the beautiful masonry. The porch was lit by an old-fashioned street lamp, which cast a beautiful golden glow that spread across the alabaster doorframe and danced off the brass doorknob. Jack laughed and shook his head.

"Hell, no!" he said, slipping his keys into his jeans pocket and zipping up his jacket with a shiver. He twisted his body around slightly to catch Ralph's eye and asked quietly, "Shall we go in?"

"Sure," replied Ralph absent-mindedly, still admiring the antique diamond paned windows and the delicate beams of moonlight that fell upon the silvery front walls. There was a moment of silence, in which the invisible wind lifted the hairs on the back of his neck and made him shudder.

"As hard as it is, Ralph, you have permission to let go of me now," said Jack, raising an eyebrow with a lewd smirk on his face. Immediately, as though scalded, Ralph tore his hands away from Jack's leather clad waist and stumbled off the vehicle, feeling the warm flush of embarrassment flood his neck and face.

"Sorry," he muttered, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets and looking angrily at the ground. Jack gave him a tigerish smirk before stretching luxuriously and sliding from the bike's seat. Summoning Ralph with an imperious beckon, he strode towards the porch before bounding up the stone steps with a bright, feline grace. Still slightly hot with discomfort, Ralph followed, matching his paces to follow Jack's slightly larger ones.

Jack fished around in his pocket for the key, before unlocking the door and pushing it open; holding it ajar for his guest to enter. Ralph slipped under Jack's arm and into the dimly lit hall, grateful for the warmth that quickly soothed his icy skin. A spicy, aromatic scent was wafting through another door that stood ajar, from which also issued the crackle of classical music from a poorly-tuned radio.

"Who do you live with?" Ralph asked curiously, turning back to see Jack watching him from his silent post by the door. The moonlight through the old windows hollowed his cheek and silvered the sharpness of his jaw, making him look thinner and gaunter.

"Her name is Marie," he replied emotionlessly, indicating the half-open door with a flick of his hand, "I'm renting the top floor, and she's my landlord. She's… eccentric, to say the least," he added cheekily; eyes meeting with Ralph's to draw him eagerly into the game.

"I see," Ralph replied with amusement, before lowering his voice, "I take it you're not the best of friends."

"Not as such," murmured Jack smoothly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "Perhaps it would be prudent to remain quiet so as not to alert her to our arrival." Pushing himself lazily away from the doorframe, he approached Ralph and guided him towards the gloomy stairwell. The blond swallowed, darting a glance around before looking at Jack questioningly.

"After you," Jack murmured softly, eyes glinting in the half-light.

Almost breathlessly, Ralph moved forward and began the ascent, allowing his hand to run over the smooth mahogany banister in silence. Jack's light feet made nearly no sound behind him, but there was still the musk of his cologne that followed him like a ghost.

"How long have you been living here?" Ralph asked curiously, glancing back at Jack as they continued up the steep staircase. The old-looking floorboards creaked slightly underfoot, and he found that he was stepping as lightly as possible in order to keep quiet.

"About two years, I think," Jack said softly as they reached the dim landing. One small window at the far end cast a long rectangle of greyish light on the wooden floor; thin diamond shadows disfiguring the knots and grains in the boards' pattern. Turning through an archway to their left, the two men entered a room that was filled with cardboard boxes.

"Nice decor," said Ralph dryly, turning to smile at Jack, who laughed.

"We're not there yet," he said, swatting Ralph playfully on the arm before pushing him gently towards a spindly-looking spiral staircase in the far corner that rose gracefully and disappeared through the ceiling above them.

"Oh," said Ralph sheepishly, obeying Jack's touch and wandering across the foot of the staircase through the maze of boxes, before remarking, "Quite a rat run you've got going on here."

"Too right," said Jack, pacing after Ralph and slipping onto the metal steps behind him, "I'm telling you, Marie's cracked. Into all of that fortune telling and aromatherapy and shit. She keeps all of her potions and stuff in boxes throughout the house, as well as letting her bloody demon cats run all over the place."

"I suppose it is her house," said Ralph vaguely, reaching the summit of the spiral staircase. He sensed, rather than heard, Jack standing behind closely behind him.

A small, cosy living room greeted Ralph's curious eyes. A small television set stood unobtrusively in one corner, opposite from the old, squashy sofa and its fraying, faded cushions. A record player was set up on the shelf behind the television set, and every other available space was packed with books of every shape and size imaginable. Various posters were tacked up around the walls, along with a select few pieces of art. As a whole, the room was simple and old-fashioned, yet it seemed to suit Jack in an odd way.

"Welcome to Merridew Mansion," said Jack dryly, brushing past Ralph and spreading his arms with a mocking grin. Relaxing into a proper smile, he shrugged the leather jacket from his shoulders and tossed it messily onto the sofa, stretching and ruffling his hair with one hand.

"It's nice," said Ralph politely, gesturing vaguely around the living room.

"You don't have to lie to me, Ralph," said Jack with a smirk, picking at a fingernail idly, "It's nothing special at all."

"I'm not lying," Ralph objected in annoyance, holding up a stern finger to halt any more protestations on Jack's part. "I like it a lot."

Jack laughed and rolled his eyes, before holding out a pale hand, "Let me take your coat."

"Oh, I wasn't planning on staying long…" Ralph began to say, before the coat was whisked from his arms and thrown unceremoniously onto the sofa with Jack's. As he opened his mouth to protest, Jack was by his side in an instant with one long finger over his guest's lips, eyes boring into Ralph's insistently and grinning impishly.

"You're here now," said Jack softly, tapping the finger and letting his eyes drift down to Ralph's lips and back again, "I want to show you the rest."

Ralph nodded wordlessly, exhaling with relief as Jack removed his hand. His heart thumped dully inside his chest, sending soft waves of panic up through his body and into his throat. Then Jack turned and glided across the room towards another door and Ralph followed; the alcohol in his blood kindly lighting up the path for him.

There followed a short tour of three or four small rooms, each one uniquely furnished and cluttered with books and records. The bathroom was bright and tiny; artificial light glittering pleasantly off the linoleum floor and the smooth white surfaces. The kitchen was surprisingly large; light blue walls plastered with posters and photographs of wildly varying topics. Each touch of personality was refreshingly unique; each new find held something intrinsically fascinating to Ralph. A desire to explore further was quickly sparked within him, much to Jack's impatience.

"Come with me," Jack murmured insistently as Ralph admired the photographs adorning the wall beside the fridge; slightly dark images of a misty, storm-tossed lake, surrounded by tall, bare trees.

Ralph followed Jack back through the cosy living room towards a small, narrow door that he had not noticed on his first inspection of the room; so hidden was it behind a poster depicting a strange-looking band Ralph had never heard of. The handle was stiff, and he found that he had to exert a great deal of strength before the surprisingly heavy door slid open. Swearing under his breath, he stumbled forwards into a large, stark room with a huge, diagonal window that slanted with the roof of the house. The full moon was just visible behind the dark, trailing clouds.

For several minutes, Ralph gazed in silence at the myriad of paintings and sketches plastered onto the walls of the spacious studio. Colours adorned every last scrap of available space, including one wall that had been turned into a mural; painted onto a magnificent canvas that stretched the length of the wall. Ralph found his mouth becoming dry as he stepped numbly into the centre of the room; staring at the stunning display of artwork.

"It's…" he broke off; mouth too dry to speak. Clearing his throat, he rasped, "It's good."

"Keep looking," said Jack, his voice husky.

Moving forwards in silence, Ralph approached the desk that seemed to be the epicentre of Jack's creations. The surface was littered with pencils and paintbrushes, camera films and pieces of paper, and in front of the desk was the mural. Ralph drank in the sight like a drug.

It was as though every dream, every thought, every nightmare Ralph had ever had regarding the island had been re-created in one place. Swallowing nervously, his eyes moved feverishly across the expanses of jungle; the jagged edges of angry storm clouds; deep crimsons splashed here and there like sour wine. Tiny representations of hunters and pigs ran streaming through the trees; never quite reaching the safety of the beach with its crystalline lagoon.

"When did you make this?" Ralph asked gruffly, unable to tear his eyes away.

"It's been an ongoing process," said Jack quietly, his voice floating like a disembodied spirit in the still, quiet air between them, "I find it's better to let things… flow, rather than keeping them bottled up, you know."

Ralph shivered and closed his eyes, unable to keep looking. There was a slight crack in the window in the sloping ceiling, which allowed tiny breaths of the chilly wind to brush in an almost ethereal way across the sensitive skin of his face and neck. An uneasy, slightly breathless feeling was expanding within his chest; constricting his throat as he heard Jack's footsteps approach him from behind.

"Do you still dream about it?" Jack said, standing so close behind his back that Ralph could have sworn he could feel the hunter's breath just touching his skin.

"Yes," Ralph whispered, opening his eyes fearfully and turning to face Jack, "Small things remind me of it. Everywhere I go, whatever I do. It's like I can't escape," he admitted in a rush, already wishing he hadn't spoken as Jack stared at him with an unfathomable expression on his sharp face. Ralph swallowed nervously and licked his lips; Jack's eyes followed the movement curiously.

"As if the hunt never ended," finished Jack, his eyes reflecting the moonlight in an almost sinister fashion. He inched forward a tiny pace, staring into Ralph's eyes as though attempting to hypnotise him. Ralph could feel the pulse in his neck beating faster than usual; thumping almost painfully against his throat. The silence stretched on between them as they stood in the cavernous room; moonlight trickling in through the skylight.

"I should go," said Ralph shakily, breaking eye contact and heading for the door, "It's late." He heaved the door open, breathing shallowly, and glanced back at Jack, who had followed him.

"No need to rush off," said Jack silkily, leaning elegantly against the doorframe and watching as Ralph grabbed his coat from the sofa and slipped into it, "I've got so many more things to show you."

"Another time," said Ralph, heart skipping a beat as he said it, "I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," said Jack with a lopsided grin, joining Ralph and wriggling into his leather jacket, "I'll give you a ride."

"It's okay," Ralph replied hastily, fiddling with the buttons on his coat, "I can get a cab..."

"I insist!" Jack said with an accommodating smile, throwing his keys up with one hand and catching them effortlessly, all the while keeping a bright eye fixed on Ralph, who slowly nodded in agreement.

"Then off we go, my lovely little pig."

* * *

"Thanks for the lift," Ralph said awkwardly, sliding from the motorcycle seat and stepping onto the kerb. The wind had picked up by now; battering the shadowy trees until they lost their grip on their coppery leaves, which sailed away into the night. A light drizzle had begun, giving the pavement and the iron railings outside Ralph's apartment a glimmering hue.

"No problem," answered Jack with a dazzling grin, drumming his fingers restlessly against his thighs, "We should do this again sometime."

"Sure," replied Ralph shyly, "Drive safe."

"I always do," said Jack mockingly, revving the engine overdramatically before kick-starting. He gripped the handlebars tightly; power in the swell of his forearms. Ralph rolled his eyes and made his way towards the front door, furtively watching the glittering vehicle speed away out of the corner of his eye. Once the last echoes of the throaty engine had died away, he unlocked the door and made his way up to his apartment.

The apartment door stood ajar. Ralph froze on the gloomy landing, heart hammering and the blood turning to ice in his veins. Numb shock flooded him in great, unquenchable waves. _Don't panic_, muttered a voice in his brain, _You left it open. No one has seen it._ Ralph clenched his fists and felt his fingers glide easily over his sweaty, clammy palms. He had never been robbed before.

In silence, he inched forward into the dark apartment; carpet absorbing the careful tread of his feet. The hall was quiet. Suddenly, his heart leapt onto his tongue as he heard someone clearing their throat from the living room. Sending up silent prayer and swallowing painfully, he noticed that faint light could be seen through the crack at the bottom of the door. Turning the doorknob as quietly as a cat burglar, he summoned up every last ounce of courage and burst through the door, before stopping in amazement, speechless.

"Hello, Ralph."

Eric stood by the open window; arms folded and head turned to face the newcomer. The moonlight cast light on only one side of his face, creating a ghost-like mask on his once innocent face. As the wind made the curtains ripple like phantoms behind him, he gestured towards the window, from which he had presumably been watching.

"Who's your friend?"


	5. Fortune

**A/N:** Welcome to the next instalment, comrades. Prepare yourselves for angst and pain for our literary friends! Haha, anyway, important exams are, unfortunately, looming on the horizon for me, so updates are unlikely to be rapid. Nevertheless, I have every intention to stick with this story until the bitter end, no matter how difficult. This chapter, I've decided to try writing from Jack's point of view as well as Ralph's for a change – see what you think reviewers are always adored!

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies (and all of its characters) does not belong to me.

* * *

For several seconds, Ralph stared at the intruder in stunned, pulsing silence. The cool draft from the open window pushed quietly over his face; drying the sweat on his skin and sending shivers in ripples down his spine. Eric watched him apprehensively out of wide, grey eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Ralph eventually asked with a slight tremor in his voice. Eric offered no answer, merely gave a moody shrug and turned again to stare pensively out of the window; moonlight washing his skin out to become pale and deeply lined. Ralph curled his hands into fists by his sides and released them slowly; achingly.

"Answer me!" he demanded, as anger surfaced with a sudden intensity. The man jumped slightly, and then turned to face Ralph with a guilty expression marring his features. Although he looked nervous, there was a furtive expression of determination that flitted in and out of reception.

Then suddenly, for several moments, Ralph slipped into another state of mind; a curious, numb feeling that swallowed him up and refused admittance to the outside world. Closing his eyes and watching the lights dance behind his darkened eyelids, Ralph wondered what it would be like to remain statue-like for eternity; never seeing the real world again.

"I'm sorry," Eric whispered hoarsely; bringing Ralph sharply from his reverie. He dipped his head and staring at his scuffed shoes, "I didn't think you'd mind me waiting inside."

"Mind?" Ralph snapped loudly; drawn abruptly to a spike of anger after being so rudely plucked from that dark place, "I was going fucking insane out there! You can't – you just c-can't break into people's houses and lurk around like this!"

Eric nibbled nervously on his lower lip, twisting his thin hands together. There was a pause before he tentatively offered, "Sorry?"

Ralph stared at him in amazement, before dragging both hands down his face in an attempt to regain rational thought. Taking a long, deep breath, he managed to compose himself before he relapsed once more into near-hysteria. "This can't be happening," he said breathlessly, vainly attempting to tally up the units of alcohol he had consumed that evening, "Why are you even here? How do you even know where I _live_?" His voice cracked.

"Why do you _think _I'm here?" shouted Eric, pushing himself violently away from the window and taking a few, rapid paces in Ralph's direction, "Aren't you plagued every single night with terrifying dreams about it? Don't you find yourself looking over your shoulder for the moment they'll appear again?" His voice grew higher, "How do you cope when there's no one there to understand?"

Ralph remained silent; gnawing on his thumbnail in frustration. He felt sick and tired. Walking slowly over an old wooden cabinet in the corner of the room, he opened the dusty doors before pulling out a couple of glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Still numb with disbelief, he collapsed onto the sofa and glanced at his unexpected arrival.

"Sit," he ordered, resigning himself to the fact that Eric wasn't going to leave.

"Thanks," said Eric awkwardly, sinking down onto the opposite end of the sofa and accepting the drink offered to him. Ralph could hear his guest breathing; shallow, ragged drags that seemed too irregular to be healthy.

Silence reigned for several moments, in which Ralph drained his whiskey and poured himself another. Eric, on the other hand, did not drink but placed his glass on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"I'm sorry," he said desperately, turning to face Ralph with huge, worried eyes.

"Just stop it," said Ralph wearily, "I'm sorry too, alright? For shouting and all that. Let's just forget it."

"Okay," Eric whispered, clasping his hands together and tapping his foot on the ground repeatedly. Ralph bit his tongue inside his mouth to avoid screaming with frustration.

"Right," he said loudly, the word halting the infuriating movements, "Let's talk, Eric."

"Not Eric!" replied his guest in unprecedented alarm, "I'm Sam now, remember?"

The pair eyed each other challengingly; feverishly. "I can't call you that," said Ralph, appalled that Eric would even attempt to enforce that aspect of the masquerade, "Sam's dead!"

"No!" said Eric viciously, clenching his fists and shaking his head, "you _must _call me Sam. I am _Sam_ now, alright?" His manner changed abruptly to one of attack, "What did you know about him anyway? You don't know what he would have wanted!"

Seething, Ralph looked away and threw his drink to the back of his throat in an attempt to calm himself. He grimaced as the welcome yet potent burn neutralised another tiny chunk of his anger.

"Okay, _Sam_," he said as calmly as was possible, "talk to me."

Eric visibly relaxed; picking up his whiskey and settling back into the sofa. Nevertheless, an aura of danger and unpredictability still hung in the air around him. "It's been getting worse since my brother died," he began slowly, "Horrible days, worse nights. I can barely sleep. Every waking moment seems to be a living reminder of all of the terrible, evil things that w-we did back there."

"Don't worry. I get it, too," said Ralph emotionlessly, slowly turning the empty glass between careful fingers and forcing himself to pay attention.

"I'm sorry to burden you like this," said Eric anxiously, licking his lips and glancing around the dimly lit room, "I haven't seen anyone else from that place apart from you. I didn't know who else to talk to."

"It's alright," said Ralph patiently, setting his glass down with meticulous care and forcing a smile at his companion, "I understand what you mean about… that place. The marks it leaves. Sometimes I catch myself blaming myself for the things that happened there, you know?"

Eric nodded feverishly; eyes boring into Ralph's with a great desire for self-assurance. "It's like there's blood on my hands – mine alone, and no matter how many years pass, it never washes away." He pressed a hand to his lips; eyes darting worriedly around the room.

"You've just got to get on with life, really, haven't you?" murmured Ralph.

"That's easy for you to say," said Eric with an odd, scornful laugh, "You've got a life to lead, as have I. My brother doesn't."

Ralph remained silent; unsure of how to reply to such a statement.

"Sometimes," began his guest, staring intently at his fingers as he twisted them slowly together, "sometimes I think it would be better to join him. It would save a hell of a lot of grief."

"Don't even say that!" snapped Ralph suddenly; frustrated to breaking point, "It is _never_ better. Think of the grief you'd give your family, especially now that your brother is gone!"

"But it's _my fault!_" wailed Eric, slamming a fist against his own chest and letting a sob escape his lips, "I can't stop thinking about the night with the – the storm, and what we did to Simon -," he broke off, rubbing the back of his arm fiercely across his cheeks.

"I know," said Ralph pityingly, reaching out a cautious hand and patting Eric softly on the shoulder, "I think we all feel that way sometimes. Well, most of us," he added as a whispered afterthought. Rubbing comforting circles on the twin's back, he pictured Jack revving up his motorcycle; skin silvered in the light of the moon and a beautifully wicked grin on his face.

------------------

Humming softly to himself, Jack unlocked the front door of Marie's house and slipped inside, bolting it behind him for the night. Immediately, the powerful musk of scented candles scoured his nose and he inhaled, enjoying the aroma.

Skin still glowing from the glory of the night ride, he shivered happily. He paused for a moment to truly absorb the fact that Ralph had stood in this very spot barely a few hours before. Wriggling out of his jacket and dropping it onto one of the hooks by the door, he ran a lazy hand through his hair before heading towards the staircase.

"Jack, dear?"

Stopping in his tracks and gritting his teeth slightly, the redhead spun around and stalked towards the living room door, from which issued a thin haze of blueish smoke. He pushed the door open softly; silently revelling in the warmth of the crackling fire.

"Hey, Marie," he said politely, giving her a smile. She returned his smile imperiously from her huge, velvet armchair, where she sat enshrouded with scarves and shawls. Marie was a vast old woman; filling the armchair so completely it seemed as though she had moulded it over the years under her weight. Thick glasses perched on her nose, from behind which bright green eyes sparkled with vitality.

"You're back extremely late tonight, my love," she said conversationally, indicating the second armchair with an absent-minded wave of her hand. There was a moment of deliberation on Jack's part, before she smiled as he sat down, "Why might that be?"

"No particular reason," he said, leaning back lazily and running an idle finger along the swirling damask patterns of the armchair. She tutted like a grandmother, clasping her hands across her generously-proportioned dressing gown and watching him with beady eyes.

"You had someone round," she said without question, reaching for her cup of tea from where it sat innocuously on a spindly, octagonal table. Taking a sip and swallowing noisily, she looked expectantly at Jack, who scowled mulishly.

"Maybe," he muttered, slouching in his seat and looking at his fingernails; looking for all the world like a chastised schoolboy.

"Oh, come now," she said playfully, taking another gulp from her porcelain cup and smiling at her young tenant in a rather toad-like manner, "Don't be bashful, now, who was it?"

"Nobody you know," Jack replied wearily, tapping one finger rapidly on the arm of his chair before he glanced at the small carriage clock on the mantelpiece, "It's very late, Marie, shouldn't you be getting to bed? The doctor's very strict about that, isn't he?"

"Oh yes," she said with an absent-minded laugh, "Yes, he's very good. Full of nonsense, though! Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Er... no, I'm alright, thank you," replied Jack after a moment of vague consideration, "I should be heading up; it's late."

"Not just yet," Marie said firmly, raising a stern finger as Jack prepared to rise. She stared thoughtfully at Jack for a while, before leaning forwards and grasping his wrist. Resisting the impulse to groan with impatience, Jack allowed her to pull his hand towards her for inspection.

In pure silence, Marie smoothed out his hand where it lay on the flimsy lace cover of the table between them. Jack flinched slightly as her trailing gauzy cuff tickled his fingers, but remained as still as he could.

"How peculiar," she mumbled to herself, running a fingertip along one of the lines that crossed Jack's palm. She muttered a few more indistinct words before relapsing into concentration.

For several minutes, there was nothing except the sound of the clock quietly ticking and the feel of her breath ghosting steadily over his fingers. Having been through the process countless times, Jack did not wait with bated breath for his fortune to be revealed, merely gazed dully at his own bored reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall.

"Such beautiful hands," said Marie eventually, with a grandmotherly smile, "so suited to your artistic ways, pet."

"Thanks," said Jack, withdrawing his hand and flexing it carefully. Trying his best not to sound bored, he asked, "Verdict?"

Marie almost shivered with anticipation, setting her features into an impenetrable mask and clearing her throat sagely. "Very soon," she began ominously; firelight reflecting eerily in the oval panes of her spectacles, "you will be faced with an old enemy without any means to defend yourself. Some ties shall be broken or lost," she added in a quavery voice, raising her emerald eyes to his, "yet some new ones shall be made." Releasing him at last, she sank back into her chair with an unreadable expression upon her elderly face.

Jack raised his eyebrows, attempting to look as though he was affected in any way by this dramatic speech. "I see," he said eventually, "I'll be extra careful, shall I?"

"That would be wise," Marie said gravely, draining her teacup and placing it carefully back onto its matching saucer, "Be a dear and pop this by the sink before you go up, there's a good boy."

Jack nodded and accepted her crockery, before making his way through a low arch and into the magnificent kitchen. Ancient, black beams stretched across the white ceiling, and the surfaces were littered with a wonderful plethora of books, plants, multi-coloured candles and pages of hand-scribbled notes. Jack trotted over to the sink, were he unceremoniously deposited the dirty cup and saucer before turning to leave.

A white, long-haired cat lay curled on the beautiful mahogany table that graced the centre of the room. Its sharp yellow eyes were fixed intently on Jack, who resisted the powerful urge to douse the animal with the glass of water that stood conveniently by the sink. Mulishly, Jack slouched from the room, casting one last glare towards the fluffy white cat that was now flicking its tail from side to side.

"I hope you were nice to Merlin," Marie said teasingly before Jack had time to escape into the hall, "I know he's a cat, Jack, but you've got to learn to love him."

"Of course I was nice," Jack said with a wicked smirk, which softened into a look of worry as his landlady grimaced briefly and raised a hand to her chest, "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Damned dodgy ticker," she grumbled, beckoning him over to help her out of her seat. Sighing, Jack returned and offered the old woman his arm, trying not to grunt with the effort of supporting her weight. Although he tried hard not to fuss over her, he was often gravely worried about Marie's heart problems, and her stubbornness over following the doctor's instructions.

"Alright, off you go," she said once she was up, releasing his arm and shooing him playfully. With a roll of his eyes and a grin, Jack slipped from the room and closed the door behind him, inhaling sharply with the sudden drop in temperature.

Immediately upon seeing the hall again, he was reminded vividly of the evening. He found that the images of Ralph were lingering tenaciously in his mind; almost tantalisingly.

Rapidly ascending the stairs with feline agility, Jack hummed under his breath until he reached his rooms. _"The falcon hath born my love away,"_ he sang in a whisper, with just a hint of a tune gracing his quiet words. For a moment, he imagined himself in a long black cloak with a glorious, golden cap badge adorning his head, before the image floated away.

Pushing the door open and yawning widely, Jack cracked his neck from side to side before freezing where he stood. He stared for a few moments; head cocked to one side inquisitively. Then, with a surge of boyish triumph, he pounced onto the sofa, where a black leather wallet lay half-hidden between two of the cushions.

Without any further ado, he it ripped it open, scrabbling messily through the cards until he found the name he so achingly wanted. Once it was found, he ran a gentle fingertip over the minute lettering; lips moving soundlessly. _It's fate_, he though gleefully to himself, letting a sly chuckle escape his tongue.

In a suddenly brighter mood, Jack rolled off the sofa and stalked proudly towards the shelves behind the television set. He raised the prize to his nose for a few seconds; searching in vain for its owner's scent. At last, half-hidden in shadow, Jack gently placed Ralph's wallet next to the telephone. _My hostage_, he thought; a wicked smirk creeping onto his face.


	6. Crossroads

**A/N:** Righty ho, my loves! I have the entire plan for this story mapped out on paper, so the only thing left is the fun bit; putting it into words and writing it all up! It's going to be rather big! If anyone has any burning suggestions for future scenes… I'm willing to consider them, because nothing is _completely_ set in stone. I'd love to hear your thoughts! Please review if you have a moment – it would be very appreciated!

Also, I was thinking about writing a story with a girl on the island (overdone, I know, yet very, very tempting and I'm _determined_ it wouldn't be the same as the others out there). Just wanted to know what you guys thought? It's been plot bunnying around my brain for so long! Thank you!

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies (and all of its characters) is the property of William Golding.

* * *

The next morning dawned pale and wintery. The sun's beams were unable to penetrate the thick layer of cloud that filled the domed sky, so the inhabitants of Greater London all woke to the silent sight of a silver, frozen city. Ralph spent a great deal of his walk to work skirting frozen puddles and avoiding the icicles that hung resplendently from the orderly, suburban trees. He strode briskly; breath fogging in the freezing air before him and face stinging as the bitter air brushed past it.

Hands thrust deeply into his pockets as he walked, Ralph mused on the events of the previous day, still unable to quite believe that they had happened. In contrast to the bleak morning, his memories of the events were colourful and intense as though painted in his mind; yet it was in some ways retracted and oddly surreal.

The evening before had become somewhat confused in his drink-addled mind, for which he was sorely paying with a keen headache. His unexpected encounter with Eric had concluded peacefully, with the exchange of telephone numbers and his guest gracefully declining Ralph's offer of a place on the sofa for the night. At almost four o'clock in the morning, Eric had slipped out of the apartment, with the solemn promise of getting in touch soon.

Ralph frowned slightly as he turned onto the noisy high street. Despite being confident enough to offer his unannounced guest a place for the night, there was still something that unsettled him about Eric; something deep-rooted and secretive which gave Ralph a creeping sensation of nervousness at the prospect of another meeting.

But there was absolutely no question that their paths would be intertwining once more; Ralph had made up his mind to try and reverse the damage that had been inflicted on his long-lost friend. Times were changing, and psychiatric help was definitely an option. The only trouble was that Ralph was unsure as how to put across the suggestion without upsetting Eric.

Arriving at the workshop, Ralph fumbled in his pocket with numb fingers, searching for his keys. Their distinctive, jigsaw edges touched his fingers coolly. Furrowing his brow, he dug further into his pockets as he noticed the absence of his wallet. Shoving the right key into the lock and wrenching the door open, Ralph strode across the room through the complicated maze of half-completed furniture items and dust covers, before completely emptying his pockets onto a sawdust-covered workbench and scrabbling through his various items for his wallet to no avail. _Shit_.

* * *

The clock on the shelf struck seven with a musical chime. Ralph stood in the centre of his living room, chewing on a thumbnail and racking his brains for any other places where he might have left his wallet. He had turned the entire flat upside down in a vain search for it, becoming more and more worried as time went on.

He had been forced to conclude that the wallet might be at Jack's, might be at the bar, or… he felt a twinge of guilt at his own cynicism as he considered the possibility that Eric had stolen it at some point.

At this, Ralph's insides fluttered nervously. He wasn't scared of Eric, as such; it was merely that he found the man's strangely fluctuant demeanour somewhat unnerving. It was not necessarily Eric's _behaviour_ that was causing the sick unease that seeped into Ralph's gut every time they were together; no, it was more the intricate aspects of the man's manner that occasionally slipped past his iron guard; the fiery, bolting stare that sometimes burst unheeded into his eyes, or the way his hands clenched suddenly at unforeseen intervals; tendons standing out suddenly before they sank once more to lie dormant below the skin.

Suddenly, the telephone rang, making Ralph jump with surprise. He approached it cautiously, wondering stupidly whether or not it was Eric telephoning to confess. With thumb and forefinger, he plucked the handset from its cradle and held it to his ear as warily as if it were a ticking bomb.

"Hello?" he enquired apprehensively.

"I've got something that belongs to you."

"Jack!" exclaimed Ralph in relief, flopping down onto the sofa and running a rough hand through his already messy hair, "You've got it?"

"Yup," Jack admitted with a barking laugh, "Were you worried?"

"Kind of," Ralph admitted awkwardly, unwilling to divulge the rather embarrassing extent of his fears, "Where did you find it?"

"Languishing in a tower, the poor thing," Jack said with a melancholy sigh, "She's wasting away as she waits for a brave knight to come and rescue her."

Ralph rolled his eyes, unable to stop a grin finding its way onto his face. "I take it that's a subtle hint got me to come and get it. Get _her_," he added with a wry smile, joining Jack in his little game.

"You do that, Ralph," said Jack in a husky, sinister voice, "But… you'll have to defeat the dragon if you want her back. And the dragon can be _very_ cunning."

"I see," said Ralph with mock seriousness, "I'll have to outsmart him somehow, won't I?"

"Oh, we'll see," chirped Jack gleefully, "That certainly won't be easy."

The line went dead; leaving Ralph suddenly alone in his dim flat. He carefully set the telephone receiver back onto the cradle, with a light feeling of nervous anticipation unfurling inside him like dark, beautiful wings.

* * *

"Stay _right _where you are," Jack murmured, softly closing one eye and bending to stare into the viewfinder of his camera; large hands becoming surprisingly nimble and delicate as they turned the focusing ring with utmost care. Ralph shivered slightly where he sat atop of stool in the draughty studio; staring at the shadowy skylight in the roof. The dome of dusk was blanketed by a thick layer of trailing clouds, so that only a few stars' rays managed to shimmer weakly from behind their restraint.

Ralph was still taken aback by Jack's sheer _persuasiveness_; barely twenty minutes ago he had turned up simply to collect his belongings, but Jack had coaxed him into a 'little photo shoot' in much the same way a hungry cat would softly cajole a nervous mouse from its sanctuary. Ralph's lip quirked at this imagery, before he remembered his role and stilled his small movements.

"Can you kind of… tense your arms?" Jack asked doubtfully; apprehensive face looking up at Ralph, who complied with no remark; staring haughtily into the camera with dark, sapphire eyes. He was proud of the muscular definition he achieved through regular training, and was perfectly willing to play it to his advantage.

"God, you're good," Jack crooned under his breath, before raising his voice, "Have you ever done modelling before, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I did a bit when I was at college," Ralph answered quietly, trying not to disturb his expression by moving his lips as little as possible, "Back in the day," he added wryly.

"I'm sure you were quite the catch with the birds, eh?" Jack asked with a smirk; bright eyes appearing above the camera as he watched cheekily for Ralph's reaction.

Ralph smiled with mock mysteriousness, "Oh, I had my moments."

"Intriguing," said Jack, picking up his gear and moving closer to his obedient subject. The rafters overhead suddenly creaked as a strong gust of wind pushed against the roof, and Ralph stared upwards for a moment, slightly in awe at the sight of the old beams arching smoothly above them like the belly of a ship. Quietly re-adjusting the camera stand, Jack glanced back up at his friend, "Lean back a tiny bit. Tilt your head _slightly _to the left… stop. Yeah. Good."

"What's your theme for the portfolio?" asked Ralph curiously, resisting the urge to stare too much at Jack as he addressed him.

"Deity and Mortal," Jack muttered, scowling slightly as he fiddled with a switch on his camera, "I've been putting it together to show them. And _hopefully_," he said, grunting slightly with grim satisfaction as the switch flicked across, "that'll snag me the job tomorrow."

"Deity and Mortal," Ralph mused, unconsciously running a hand through his hair and humming thoughtfully, "Which am I?"

Jack stood still for a moment, watching Ralph with a swift, calculating look in his blue eyes. "I'm not sure yet," he said with a crooked smirk, "I'm sure we'll find a place for you within the pages. A measly corner somewhere," he added with a sly wink.

"Oh, great," Ralph said sourly, sending the redhead a glare from his statue-like position, "It's so wonderful to know my efforts are appreciated, Jack."

"You never call me that," Jack blurted out abruptly. The two of them froze for a moment, during which tension thrummed sweetly in the air, before Jack snatched up his equipment once more and moved even closer to Ralph. His body language made it perfectly clear that Ralph was _not _to make a reply. Rain began to patter softly on the window panes; starting a light drumming sound that matched the pace of the blood in Ralph's veins.

Ralph himself was suddenly feeling smothered by Jack's newfound proximity. Silently, he registered the rise in skin temperature and the prickling feeling that slid down the nape of his neck. Ralph did not think it possible that Jack couldn't _hear_ the changes that were suddenly suffocating him as he gripped the cool metal of the stool.

Then Jack turned his head and stared wordlessly at Ralph, who felt the familiar outbreak of the sick, nervous fluttering deep in his abdomen. Jack's pupils were dilated and shimmering with curiosity; his hands perfectly still where they had come to the sudden rest on the camera; muscles pulled tight in the pale swell of his forearms.

Ralph's breathing had become faster and rougher; the horrible feeling of entrapment coming over in pulsing waves that poured off Jack; feeding from his predatorial, destructive aura. Ralph was still sure that Jack was capable of unthinkable things; things that he was at liberty to perform should Ralph fall for his wicked tricks.

"You don't scare me, you know," the blond snapped suddenly, shattering the silence and tension with the same awful brick.

Jack straightened up and stared at him with an unfathomable expression on his shadowy face. The moon had gone behind the clouds so that the only soft, golden light was coming from a lamp that stood a few metres away at the desk. Ralph found this confusing: Jack looked almost angelic when his large eyes and porcelain skin were lit with a warm glow. Yet contained within Jack's soul was something bitter and twisted; something that longed for the glory of the hunt once more.

"Not even a little bit?" Jack took a few slow steps towards him. The whisper echoed around the high-ceilinged room as smooth slabs of muscle in Jack's shoulders shifted below his skin like a well-oiled machine. The rain began to set in harder and faster; in much the same way that Ralph's pulse was throbbing sickeningly inside his neck.

"No," he denied; eyes wide and pale in the half darkness.

"I think you're lying," Jack murmured, beginning to circle the stool Ralph was sitting upon. His bare feet made no sound at all on the wooden floor, and as he walked around his prey, he gradually closed the distance between them.

"You know what I did," Jack said darkly from where he paused behind Ralph; a taunting, disembodied voice. Ralph's heart was hammering within his chest, and he could not bring himself to move, let alone turn to face his predator. His back was prickling with the burning sensation of being watched, until he could barely control his urge to sprint from the room, out into the pouring rain as though slavering demons were snatching at his heels.

"I could do it again…" Ralph shuddered as the rumbling voice came again barely a few centimetres from his ear. Breathing in through his nose, Ralph could detect Jack's musky scent, and the barely tangible aroma of cigarettes. Every nerve ending he possessed was aquiver with anticipation; a guilty desperation that contact would be made. Which it was.

"…But I won't." Jack laid his hands gently upon Ralph's shoulders; pressing just hard enough to test the muscles beneath the white t-shirt. He began to rub his knuckles against the knots in the sinews, a subtle attempt to erase Ralph's fear of him through gentle touches. Ralph responded minutely; a barely audible exhale of air and a slight arch of his back.

Minutes passed in silence; Jack standing behind Ralph in the lamp-lit studio, with the threatening mural staring gravely at the unlikely pair. Ralph's body was perfectly still, but his mind was racing faster that he could keep up with; awful, illicit images that rushed through his brain unheeded, and scared the living daylights out of him. There was the dull throb of warning in his heart, but a strange, quiet triumph was shimmering through his veins and making his palms glow with a slight sheen of perspiration.

"I'll never do that to you," Jack suddenly said in his ear with absolute, vicious conviction. His voice was rough, but his hands were still skilfully working out the tension that had gathered deep within the flesh and grown there like cantankerous roots, "You have my solemn vow."

"How can I know that though?" Ralph whispered; turning his head slightly until their faces were close and he could smell the mint in Jack's breath. Their proximity was wonderfully stifling.

"Trust me, okay?" Jack murmured in Ralph's ear; excitement flaring suddenly within his chest as he felt his mouth brush briefly against it. He withdrew slightly and bit his lip; hands never ceasing their soothing ministrations.

"Jack…"

It was barely between a whisper and a breath, but Jack responded immediately. He slipped a hand under Ralph's arm and around his chest; resting his chin on the blond's shoulder. They remained like that for several minutes; Jack's chest pressed tightly against Ralph's back without an atom's breadth between them. Both of his hands were spread flat on Ralph's lean stomach, feeling the strength that lay there and the warmth that emanated from his young skin.

"Please believe me," he murmured forlornly, pressing his nose against the soft cotton of Ralph's t-shirt and inhaling his spicy, male scent; closing his eyes as though the aroma was a powerfully addictive drug, "I'm not the bastard I once was."

"I know," Ralph answered, almost shuddering with an indescribable trickle of wonder as he felt the hunter's lips press against his shoulder; his breath sighing over the exposed skin of his own neck and making the tiny, downy hairs shiver with pleasure. He turned his head slightly, daring himself to see what Jack was doing; to _believe_ it wasn't a dream.

Jack's eyes were bright in the moonlight; burning bright with something unnameable. His skin was almost unbearable hot where it made contact with Ralph's own. They gazed at each other for a second, before Jack slowly and deliberately dropped his gaze and pressed his lips against Ralph's neck, allowing his tongue to touch the skin for a brief moment, withdrawing before the taste devoured him.

He kissed a deliberate, wandering path up towards the sensitive skin below Ralph's ear; hands beginning to stroke the firm abdomen that shivered slightly at each touch.

Ralph let out a shuddering breath and arched his neck; Jack could even _hear_ the sinews stretching within his flesh. The air was throbbing between them, and Jack's hands were gripping Ralph's body far too tightly, but that didn't matter anymore. He bit at the firm skin with a growl; breath coming hard and fast through his nose as Ralph's scent filled it.

Ralph raised a hand to clutch at Jack's hair; whether to rip him away or drag him closer he didn't know. His body was twisted uncomfortably, but before he could even move, Jack had escaped his grasp and staggered backwards; ruffled and panting.

"Do you believe me now?" he rasped breathlessly, raising the back of his hand to touch his parted lips.

Ralph swallowed painfully, trying not to succumb to the greedy flames that were consuming him from the inside out. The rain was thundering on the rooftop as he closed his eyes with the sheer inability to cope with the overwhelming situation. He should obey his gut instincts; to scream _no!_ at the top of his lungs and escape the dragon's lair unscathed. He would look back on these dark times with a shiver of relief.

Or would he? He opened his eyes to stare at the moon through the rain-spattered skylight. Gaze flickering sideways, he registered the dark, brooding silhouette Jack cast; the smallest glimpse of sharp white teeth; the bolting, ice blue eyes that glittered so brightly in the twilight. Standing there like a fiery angel. And Ralph's heart screamed _yes yes yes._


	7. Mistake

**A/N:** Hello my lovelies! Thank you once again for your heartfelt reviews, including anonymous ones! You guys rock (: _however_ I'm going away for the next ten days, so the next update is likely to be late, but I swear I will try my best to keep that time to a minimum. So you have my apologies in advance for that. But enough mundane chatter… let us commence with chapter seven. Comments are very welcome, as usual.

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies (and all of its characters) is the property of William Golding.

* * *

Ralph sat rigidly at the table in the tiny kitchen; jaw clenched and fingertips drumming anxiously on the wooden surface. The bitter taste of black coffee was still strong on his tongue after he'd helped himself to a cup, quarter of a tedious hour previously. Jack had made no appearance as of yet, and Ralph was unwilling to either wake him or to leave Marie's home secretly.

He bit his lip and stared out of the window, wondering what he was going to say to Jack when he made his appearance. Dragging a hand through his hair in agitation, Ralph groaned softly and closed his eyes, wishing for all the world Jack didn't have such an iron control of his behaviour. He propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, wondering how the hell he'd managed to back himself into such a tight corner.

The previous night had been a strange, swirling cocktail of emotions; emotions that were strong and alien; emotions that were secretive and whispering, yet not entirely unwelcome. Jack had not made any further advances on him after that dark, demanding question, a fact that remained firmly stuck to the back of Ralph's mind. Why hadn't he? Perhaps it had just been a moment of wild recklessness on both of their parts. Ralph sniffed. He wasn't _queer_.

"Morning," said Jack, suddenly breezing into the kitchen in black jeans and an unbuttoned white shirt that fluttered like a pale banner behind him. Ralph set his coffee mug down more sharply than he had intended.

"Hi," he rasped out, consciously averting his eyes from the faint line of hair that led down from Jack's navel and into his jeans. He turned to glare at the wall to his right; gaze itching to flick over to the redhead who floated vaguely around the room; rifling through various cupboards, nibbling thoughtfully at his thumbnail, softly kicking the cupboard doors shut with a grey-socked foot. Eventually he dropped into the seat opposite Ralph with a sigh of contentment.

"Sleep okay on the sofa?" Jack asked, taking an obscenely large bite of toast and chewing noisily. Ralph nodded mutely; eyes fixed almost warily upon the sharp, white incisors that sliced so easily through Jack's helpless breakfast. He could remember a time when those teeth were bared with animalistic aggression, before a spear was flung his way with murderous intent…

"Are you alright?" Jack enquired; brow furrowing as he took a sip of orange juice.

"Sorry," Ralph said, jerking out of his reverie and catching Jack's eye, slightly flushed, "I was thinking about what happened, and – and I was…" he trailed off, mesmerised by the sight of Jack stretching his arms above his head and sighing; sleek muscles moving in ripples beneath the pale flesh of his abdomen. The last trace of rational thought dropped out of Ralph's mind like a stone.

"So, what happened? When?" Jack asked, forcing the rest of his toast into his mouth and swallowing a cup of coffee in two great gulps.

Ralph stared at him blankly. "Huh?"

Jack smirked and rolled his eyes at Ralph. "Nothing." He delicately brushed a few crumbs form his slender fingertips and licked his lips. "I have to get ready for this _interview_ now," he groaned, dragging himself up out of his chair and slouching into the hall, "You might as well murder me now."

Ralph cautiously got up and followed Jack into the hall, pausing uncertainly at the bedroom door as Jack stood in front of the mirror, attempting to put on a tie with a look of grim determination on his pale face. A soft smile crept onto Ralph's lips as he watched in amusement.

"Have you ever actually _worn _a tie before?" Ralph questioned with a smirk.

"_You _do it then, if you're that good!" Jack snapped, thrusting the two ends towards Ralph with a challenge in his bolting blue eyes. Nonchalantly, Ralph pushed himself away from the doorframe and calmly approached the task at hand. He kept his eyes carefully averted from Jack's as he knotted the tie around his neck.

Jack was not in the mood to behave. He pulled away from Ralph's hands like an ill-behaved puppy and muttered filthy expletives under his breath.

"Too loose!" he grumbled suddenly, watching Ralph with mischief sparkling in his blue eyes. Ralph suddenly cinched the tie sharply around Jack's throat and glared at the troublemaker.

"Either behave, or I'll _make _you behave," Ralph said sternly, a flicker of gratification stirring in him as Jack stilled and watched him quietly out of wide, reproachful eyes. Ralph smirked and continued.

Then, in a fraction of a second, Jack had spun from Ralph's grip and thrown his full weight against the blond; smashing him heavily against the wall; hands gripping Ralph's wrists above his head painfully tightly. Tendons stood out of his arms like bones. Ralph panicked and struggled, but Jack pressed harder against his back and hissed into his ear, "I'd like to see you try."

Ralph froze, heart hammering and hands crushed against the peeling paintwork; completely restrained by Jack's powerful fingers. He felt the warm touch of a tongue brush the outer shell of his ear, and a convulsion of desire ran through his frame, shaking him to his very core. He tried desperately to turn into Jack's arms, but the captor crushed his own abdomen forward, pressing the victim still harder against the wall.

"Uh-uh," Jack's voice reprimanded playfully, "I don't have time for your tricks."

And then the weight vanished.

Ralph turned around painfully, leaning back against the wall and gazing at Jack. The redhead was smirking as he knotted his own tie with impeccable dexterity, grabbed his jacket from where it lay on the double bed and tossed some keys to Ralph, who caught them numbly.

"Lock up when you're done," Jack chirped merrily, disappearing into the hall along with the waves of thrumming tension. There was a bang as the front door was slammed, leaving Ralph against the wall with nothing but his blossoming bruises.

-------------------

The park was grey and bleak as Ralph made his way down the gravel path, hours later. The trees were creaking and swelling with the aftermath of rain; raising their branches and flicking off the droplets of water that clung to them.

The figure on the bench ahead was sitting stiffly and awkwardly; back ramrod straight and head bowed so that his profile cut a sharp silhouette against the pale morning sky. Ralph approached with a kind of set determination, consciously quelling the flutterings of unease in his stomach and replacing them with ideas of salvation for his friend.

"Hello, Ralph," Eric said quietly, not turning to face him.

"Hey," the blond replied, slowly easing himself down and pulling up the collar of his coat even further to keep his neck warm. His breath fogged in front of him as he stared out over the deserted stretch of grass, "How's everything going?"

Eric gave a non-committal mutter, "Alright, s'pose."

Silence reigned. A bird's solitary cry rose up out of a bare oak tree; the faint, lonely requiem floating into the heavens like a lost soul. The tree beside the bench shivered in the wind and a faint smattering of tiny droplets showered the two men.

"I have a suggestion," Ralph said quietly, licking the rain from his lips, "and I don't want you to overreact. Just think, okay?"

Eric said nothing, but turned strangely blank, empty eyes towards his companion. Ralph cleared his throat awkwardly, slightly unnerved, and looked down at his hands.

"I think it would be a good idea for you to go somewhere to get some help for a while."

"Help?" spat Eric immediately, leaping to his feet and breathing heavily, "You mean you want them to lock me up, don't you? You think I'm a nutter!"

"No!" hissed Ralph urgently, rising as well and grabbing Eric's sleeve to prevent him from leaving, "No locking up, I promise. I mean counselling or something, you know, talking things over with someone who can really understand. To be honest, I don't think I can cope on my own."

"So you don't want me anymore," Eric concluded mournfully, sinking back onto the bench and burying his head in his hands. Ralph raised his eyes heavenwards before laying a cautious hand on Eric's shoulder.

"Of course I do," he began awkwardly, looking down at the tousled hair atop Eric's bowed head, "I just think it would be great if you could get a bit better, you know? Make it easier for me?"

"There's nothing wrong with me!" snapped Eric suddenly, viciously, turning to glare upwards at Ralph with startling ferocity, like a fox trapped in a snare.

"Look, Eric…"

"No!" shouted Eric, on his feet in a flash, shoving Ralph backwards roughly, "I am _Sam!"_ Ralph threw him off easily, too frustrated with the situation to retain any patience. He raised his hands as though to tug his own hair with pent-up aggression, but let them drop to his sides.

"You're _not_ Sam," he began with forced calm, swallowing the anger that threatened to escape his lips. He clasped his hands together and continued, "You're upset and you're afraid, and I _understand_ _why_. I was there, remember?"

Eric pressed his lips together tightly, eyes shimmering as he surveyed Ralph silently. The blond felt a pang of remorse as a single tear dripped silently onto the wet grass at their feet, melting into the earth and leaving existence.

"Look, I found out a place we can try. I'll come with you. Only if you want." Ralph pushed the crumpled slip of paper into Eric's limp hand and shoved his hands into his pockets, wondering whether or not to leave the man to his thoughts. Eric stared blankly at the paper for a few moments, before walking stiffly back to the bench and sitting down.

Sighing, Ralph turned and moved away down the gravel path. The stones crushed together wetly.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow, then," floated a voice behind him.

Ralph closed his eyes for a brief moment before turning and nodding to the man who sat alone on the bench. A lonely bird called from the twisted oak tree.

------------------

Later, Ralph stood in the lamp-lit porch of his apartment block, digging in his pocket for the key. The sun was disappearing behind the houses that lined the other side of the wide road, so that shadows had started to spread their ink over every free surface.

"Evening."

Ralph jerked around; heart pounding at the sound of Jack's voice. The redhead was lounging astride his motorcycle, smirking at Ralph's alarm. Dappled shadows covered his face and dulled the glossy red of his bike, but his icy eyes still glittered brightly in the dusk. The way he managed to appear and vanish seemed almost supernatural to Ralph, whose face cracked into a smile as he descended the steps to greet the redhead.

"What are you doing, sneaking around?" Ralph asked with a smirk.

"Sneaking?" Jack asked, a look of innocent indignation creeping over his features, "That's a bit of a strong word, isn't it?"

Ralph rolled his eyes and grinned. "I take it you're coming in?"

"Yeah," said Jack vaguely, shoving his keys in his pocket and running a hand through his fiery hair. Ralph turned towards the house, but was restrained by a lazy finger hooking itself through one of his belt loops and pulling him gently backwards.

"Not so fast," said Jack smoothly, turning Ralph around and gripping onto the leather of the front of his belt, "You haven't said hello to me yet."

He slid from the bike seat and pulled Ralph's hips coaxingly towards him; arms sliding around the blond's lean waist; fingers just skimming the hot skin beneath Ralph's t-shirt as they hugged.

"Jack…" Ralph protested quietly, as Jack's lips found the sensitive spot below his ear and pressed feather-light kisses in a burning trail. He could feel the heat from Jack's skin searing through their clothes.

"Mm?"

"Someone might see," he murmured, shuddering as he felt Jack's teeth brush against his jugular.

"Then let them see," Jack said, letting his hands slide around to grip Ralph's behind, lifting him slightly upwards so that their bodies crushed together with more urgency. Ralph groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, one hand clutching Jack's bicep, one at the back of his muscled neck. The musky, male scent was almost overpowering as he checked the street, which was, thankfully, deserted at this hour.

"Shit," said Jack breathlessly, releasing Ralph and nudging him away, "Let's go in."

Ralph stood on the pavement, trembling with indescribable feelings. He stared at Jack, baffled, for several seconds, before leading him inside; acidic euphoria running through his veins. As they progressed towards the flat, Jack kept a possessive grip on his waist, occasionally dipping his head to nuzzle the crook of Ralph's neck.

Upon reaching his flat, Ralph had trouble with the keys due to the damp on his palms and the shaking that had come over his body like an illness. He could hear Jack's deep breathing right behind him and the soft touch of fingers against the back of his neck.

Eventually, the door opened, and Jack forged through immediately, one hand in the small of Ralph's back to drag him in. At soon as they were safely inside, he kicked the front door violently shut and pushed Ralph back against it, breath hitching with desire at the sight of the fear that flickered momentarily in the blond's eyes.

Ralph was quiet and alive in his arms, having forced back the primal urge to flee from his lifelong predator. Jack's eyes were dark; pupils huge and captivating as he stroked Ralph's cheek with the back of a callused finger. It was a brittle moment; so fragile that it seemed almost unreal.

Breath coming hard and fast, Jack lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Ralph's lips. A shaking gasp was shared, before Jack repeated the action, harder. He stared in fascination at Ralph's eyes as they stood pressed together, enthralled by the patterns of desire that formed there.

"You're really beautiful," Jack murmured, shutting his eyes and letting his forehead fall onto Ralph's shoulder. The blond kissed the exposed skin of his neck carefully, the masculine aroma sending shivers flooding throughout his whole body.

"Oh my God," Jack breathed gruffly as Ralph pressed urgently against him. The air was hot and thick with sin. He gripped Ralph's hair tightly in one hand and kissed him roughly; their lips slanting naturally against each other and hot tongues brushing together. Ralph closed his eyes in euphoria, revelling in Jack's taste and musk and the contours of his hard muscles as they strained against his own.

"I'll tell you a secret," Jack whispered as he broke the kiss, dark eyes flickering between Ralph's eyes and parted lips as his hands inched towards Ralph's belt buckle, "I don't mind that Eric's dead, 'cause otherwise I wouldn't have you all to myself right now…"

"What?" Ralph burst out, shoving Jack away and staring at him in horror, "Eric's _dead_? How?"

Jack gazed blankly at Ralph, before replying warily, "Suicide. Remember? We were at the funeral..?"

Immediately, Ralph clapped a hand over his mouth in horror at his own stupidity. _How could he have been so idiotic?_ "Sorry – I… I just got confused there a moment. The names, you know…" he let out a strangled laugh that did not for one moment disguise his dishonesty.

"What's going on, Ralph?" Jack asked dangerously, advancing a step on his companion. The heavy desire in the air between them had morphed into a deep chasm. Ralph's eyes were wide as he watched the hunter close in; eyes dark and muscles moving like pistons beneath his skin, "I think you owe me an explanation."


	8. Guilt

**A/N:** I am SO sorry for the lateness of this chapter, my poor neglected readers. I have developed writer's block. WRITER'S BLOCK. I am so frickin' angry! I sit there for ages trying to type and nothing comes! Why? WHY?? ): hopefully it'll go away soon. I suppose it's quite a long chapter, but it still doesn't make up for the _eons_ I spent writing it! My apologies, dears.

By the way, any particular preferences as to whether this remains T-rated or goes up to M? As usual, my love and gratitude to all reviewers (:

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies (and all of its characters) is the property of William Golding.

* * *

Moonlight was slanting in through the window as Jack paced around the room; footsteps making precious little sound due to months of practice in dense jungle a lifetime away. Ralph sat unmoving on the sofa; hands gripped together and chin just resting on his interlocking fingers. The waiting air between them was heavy with doubt and apprehension.

"Just spit it out, Ralph," Jack snapped, "There's something you're not telling me. I know there is."

Ralph stared nervously at his interrogator. The agony of indecision was clearly visible in his light grey eyes as they widened with innocent reproach. Jack halted and turned at the pinnacle of his route; gaze flashing with a bolting look that jerked long-distant memories to the front of Ralph's mind; as he blinked he could see a faint copy of a long black cloak circling the redhead's ankles as he spun to address a blurry crowd. The mirage vanished.

"I can't tell you," Ralph said hoarsely, inwardly ashamed of how feeble his voice sounded. There was a second of pure, unadulterated silence as guilt throbbed hotly in his gut.

Jack advanced quietly. The anger was tangible; shimmering under the surface of his smooth skin. "What did you say?"

Ralph closed his eyes and tried vainly to hope that everything would be alright. "I'm not allowed to tell you."

"Excuse me?" Jack spat ferociously. He strode over to where Ralph was sitting and ripped his hands roughly away from his face; ignoring Ralph's growls of protest where the delicate skin on his wrist was twisted painfully. Ralph leapt to his feet and tried to wriggle free from his attacker, but Jack's grip was unexpectedly powerful.

"You think for one fucking second that I'm going to stand back and watch you take orders from someone else?" the redhead demanded angrily, shaking Ralph like a rat. The blond's face was screwed up with a disturbing contrast of pain and fear, yet this did not satisfy Jack; it merely sparked a deeper desire for a greater revenge. He bared his teeth as he hissed, "It's _pathetic!"_

"I'm not taking orders!" Ralph grunted eventually, twisting free at last and almost tripping over the coffee table as he made his clumsy escape around the sofa; Jack's fingerprints burning crimson on his skin.

"You obviously are!" Jack shouted, striding after Ralph with a feral, jealous expression contorting his handsome face, "Who is it?"

"Don't ask me, I can't say!" Ralph yelled, backing away towards the window as Jack began to corner him. He pressed himself as far away from the predator as he could; the cold, hostile wall jutting through his back and grating against his vertebrae.

Then Jack was there. Impossibly fast, he had thrown his hands against the wall on either side of his victim and ensnared him; forming a cage of muscle that penned Ralph in. The tendons in his forearms were obvious and trembling as he forced restraint over his instinct to destroy.

"You're _mine,_" Jack snarled, slamming a fist against the wall so viciously that Ralph jerked backwards in a panic, smacking his head painfully, "Now give me the _name!_"

"He said he would kill me if I did!" Ralph blurted out; squeezing his eyes shut and flinging his soul into the hands of chance. For several seconds, there was only the echo from the traffic outside and the beating of their two hearts from within held breaths. A curious, gauzy veil floated across Ralph's consciousness, before passing on without a sound.

Jack relinquished him slowly; hands dropping to his sides limply and a confused expression ghosting across the face that suddenly looked alone, almost vulnerable. Ralph let out his breath carefully, never taking his eyes away from Jack, who had clasped his hands together and pressed them hard against his lips; lips that were drawn up in a grimace of contained aggression.

"I would tell you if I could," Ralph said shakily, nerve endings aquiver with calculated fear of refreshed attack. His hands trembled as he pushed himself numbly away from the wall.

"Fuck," Jack groaned, running a hand through his hair, "_Fuck._ I'm sorry. Sorry." He bit his knuckles hard; fist still clenched in cruel, savage anticipation of a fight.

Ralph edged past him and sank onto the sofa once more; drawing his knees up and hugging them tightly to his chest. The cushions held no comfort, but brushed against his bare arms with a half-burning sensation. The promise he had made hung over him like a morose cloud; weighing his shoulders down and winding heavily around his heart.

Jack exhaled as he sat down at the opposite end; eyes fever-bright and muscles taut with the adrenaline that coursed too dangerously through his body. He drummed quick fingertips against the arm of the sofa in a physical representation of his unrest. Suddenly, he leapt to his feet as though burned and turned to Ralph, breathing quickly and violently.

"I will _never_ let anyone hurt you, d'you understand that?" he forced out, with absolute conviction. His eyes darted up to meet Ralph, who had risen silently from his seat and stepped closer. Jack let out his breath with a shuddering sigh and looked at his friend with a strange, hopeless expression on his face.

Ralph smiled bitterly, humourlessly. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it?" he asked; words laced with a stilted kind of remorse.

Jack looked down guiltily, shame casting a shadow over his face. Hot, bitter tears had started to prick at the back of his eyes and he wiped them ferociously on the back of his sleeve.

"God," he muttered gruffly, staring at the ceiling for a moment before, with a twinge of self-disgust, meeting Ralph's curious, almost naϊve gaze, "I'm sorry. For everything. For being a git most of the time and for lashing out and all - "

"Jack…" Ralph protested quietly, moved with both pity and embarrassment.

"No, listen," said Jack urgently, placing a hand on each of Ralph's shoulders and glaring directly at him through ice blue eyes, "_I will not let him kill you_."

"How can you be so sure?" Ralph asked raspily, throat dry; whether due to Jack's rather sinister vow or the powerful grip he could feel pressing dangerously close to his neck, he did not know. Although his face remained passive, there was a passionate internal struggle within him; the desire for Jack to protect him and then the impulse to pull from his torturous clutches and escape him entirely.

"Because you're going to tell me everything."

* * *

The next day, Ralph found himself walking up the drive towards the Riverside Mental Institution, Eric stalking moodily at his side. It was a grand-looking place; ancient stone walls picked out with marble, and ivy trickling down over some of the diamond-paned windows.

"I don't want to be here," Eric hissed as they passed an elderly man in a dressing gown clinging to the arm of a plump, motherly matron. The sun was clearly a rarity for his papery skin, and the man kept his eyes tightly closed; face split with a wide, toothy grin.

Ralph glanced around uneasily and muttered, "Just give it a try. If it's shit, we don't have to come back."

"It's not up to you to bring me!" Eric snapped, kicking at the gravel sulkily as they proceeded.

"Just shut up, alright?" Ralph said angrily, "It's for your benefit, not mine! I'm not the one who's sick in the head, it's you!"

He shoved his hands into his pockets as Eric relapsed into a chilly silence, scowling darkly as they ascended the front steps and entered the institution one after the other, door swinging silently shut behind them.

* * *

Dr. Andrews was a musty, rotund kind of gentleman whose greyish skin colour toned remarkably well with the bland wallpaper that was plastered there in order to be as unobtrusive as possible. The little hair atop his liver-spotted head was slicked over sideways with yellowish grease, and the thick glasses he wore gave him an earnest, owlish look. Despite physical drawbacks, he possessed the great intellectual advantage of being able to cast himself perfectly, almost eerily into another's shoes.

He shuffled his papers and cleared his throat feebly before peering up at Eric with startlingly bright green eyes. "It says here that you suffer from nightmares, Eric. Is that correct?"

Ralph sensed, rather than saw Eric nodding his head.

"Would you care to tell me about any of these, son?" Dr. Andrews asked politely but wheezily, as though dust and bits of fluff had collected in his lungs over the years of mouldering away in that cramped office.

There was a pause. Ralph gave his companion a furtive, sidelong glance to evaluate whether or not his presence in the room was becoming unwanted. Eric, however, was slouched in his chair, head in hands, with no apparent opinion on the matter.

"Eric, son?" prompted Dr. Andrews.

"They're all pretty much the same," Eric said dully, running a finger in idle strokes up and down the arm of the chair he sat on. The sound of his nail scoring across the plush damask sent a tingling sensation creeping in waves down Ralph's spine, and he shivered slightly.

"They're about _him."_

Ralph froze, hands gripping together with as much force as he could possibly exert. He felt the flush of horror rising, hot and unpleasant, into his face and neck. _Jack._

"About who?" asked the psychiatrist quietly, emerald eyes alight with scientific interest. Ralph licked his lips and swallowed the painful lump in his throat.

Eric gave a groan of disgust and shook his head slowly, eyes closed; revulsion puckering his mouth as though he had tasted lemon. He rubbed his hands together in his lap and opened his eyes; a slow, condemning glare that sparked horror within Ralph.

"_Merridew."_

Ralph twitched and shifted in his chair as Dr. Andrews made a careful note in the pad that lay on the desk in front of his generously-filled waistcoat.

"Jack _fucking_ Merridew," Eric crooned softly; ominously quietly, "he's always there. Every single time."

"Who is this Mr Merridew?" queried Dr. Andrews, leaning forwards momentarily to flick through his notes. His eyes darted through the lines of text impressively fast, occasionally halting as they absorbed a choice phrase or two.

"He was a hunter," said Eric viciously, fingers now picking forcefully at the material of the chair he occupied, "and he was a bully."

"Was he, by any chance," interrupted Dr. Andrews, leaning forward to watch Eric intently, "was he an acquaintance from the island?"

There was a ringing silence. Ralph wondered whether either of the other men in the room could hear his heart pounding deafeningly in his throat, or see the sweat that softly laced his hairline.

"Yes," Eric said darkly, mulishly, "he was."

"And what did he do?" Dr. Andrews pressed, pen poised over the paper like a spear. Ralph eyed it warily, unease building up inside him.

"He hurt people," Eric murmured sourly, "Didn't he, Ralph?"

Ralph started and stared at Eric in shock, a flush of embarrassment flooding his face as he struggled for words. Eventually he rasped out a strangled sound of assent and looked away, panic pulsing through his brain with every heartbeat.

"He beat Wilfred," Eric continued bitterly, voice rising higher and higher with emotion, "and let the fire out, and murdered Simon and made Sam kill –" he stopped abruptly as tears welled up in his eyes and dripped silently onto the grey carpet. Dr. Andrews waited with professional patience, but Ralph was beginning to feel trapped and claustrophobic.

He shut his eyes tightly; trying in vain to blot out the images that poured in front of his mind's eye with sickening rapidity; Jack painting Roger's face with cruel, painstaking care; Jack watching him challengingly from his garlanded seat as chief; Jack hurling a spear at him with full, vicious intent; Jack's breath hot against his ear as light-fingered hands reached his belt buckle…

Ralph shot out of his chair with a panicked whimper, cold sweat clinging to his skin. Dr. Andrews and Eric both stared at him in surprise as Ralph mumbled, "Excuse me," and hurried towards the door.

"Ralph!" said Eric in a choked voice, clutching weakly at Ralph's sleeve as he passed, "You said you'd stay!"

"I can't," Ralph mumbled, hands shaking as he wrenched the door open and staggered through, letting it slam behind him.

Breathing hard through his nostrils, Ralph floated dazedly towards a chair and sank down into it; the long corridor deserted either side of him. The peeling, sandy wallpaper on the opposite wall watched him silently as he buried his head in his hands and shuddered with despair.

* * *

Jack paced around the living room, glancing at the clock every now and then and willing its hands to move faster. His fingers twitched as he stalked around or paused; to examine a photograph or to moodily flick through the records that were piled on the windowsill. Evening was beginning to settle, and he had expected Ralph back home at least an hour ago.

Despite his immediate impulse to hunt Eric down and batter the life from his bones, Jack had restrained himself from doing so at Ralph's plea. He would normally have put his fiendish plans into action, but the fact remained that he had never felt such a deep-rooted connection with someone; so feverishly protective that he would consider literally anything to keep him safe. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

The second he heard the scratch of keys in the lock, Jack bounded into the hall and wrenched the door open, exploding with questions before Ralph had had time to set foot inside.

"Was it okay? What happened?" Jack demanded, eyes at once searching Ralph's face as though determined to find something wrong, "Are you alright? Did they –"

"Jack, I'm fine," Ralph interrupted wearily, pushing past the redhead and shrugging off his jacket. Gradually, he sank down onto the sofa and rubbed his eyes, yawning. Jack hovered nervously, desperate to ask questions but keen to keep the air between them clear.

"Come and sit down," Ralph muttered, patting the space beside him with a lazy hand. Jack complied immediately, sitting down closer to the blond than was strictly necessary and waiting nervously. Ralph let his head rest against the back of the sofa, closing his eyes and sighing, "It's been an odd sort of day, hasn't it?"

"Pretty odd," Jack agreed with forced calm, mirroring Ralph and lolling back against the cushions, "What happened, then?"

"It was really weird," said Ralph, opening his eyes and turning his head to look at Jack, "He wouldn't stop talking about you."

"Me?" Jack asked suspiciously, furrowing his brow with confusion. He stroked the small scar on his lip thoughtfully, "What did he say?"

Ralph shrugged and shivered, searching for the words. "Just bad stuff," he muttered lamely.

"Great," Jack snapped, staring malevolently at the opposite wall, "I bet Eric's got you eating out of the palm of his hand, hasn't he?" he added spitefully.

"_No_, he hasn't," Ralph retorted loudly, "And you've got to stop with this jealousy bullshit, because it's not true and you know it. It's only going to make things worse."

Jack sighed with frustration and turned to face Ralph, a glower upon his pale features. "How can I not be jealous when you're scampering off with my enemies left, right and centre and you don't tell me?"

"Firstly," Ralph said with a haughty sniff, "I do not scamper. Ever. Secondly, he's not your enemy," a soft, worried look broke through the mask and he added, "That's long gone, Jack. We need to let it go."

"He hates me," Jack said emotionlessly. Ralph watched him warily; the hollow of his cheek deepening with shadow as the dusk settled more thickly against the windows.

"You'll never see him," Ralph said lightly, "I'll make sure he never knows you're still on the planet, let alone sneaking into my place at all hours."

"I do not sneak!" Jack protested, poking Ralph in the ribs with a sharp finger, "Ever."

"Liar," Ralph breathed, yawning widely.

"Don't think I didn't hear that," Jack added snippily, voice contrasting with the grin that had sidled across his lips.

Ralph chuckled and ran his hands leisurely through his hair, so it stood out at new and interesting angles. The stress of the afternoon had melted through his muscles and wound around his joints, so he took the liberty of cracking his neck from side to side and stretching both arms up with a groan of satisfaction. Jack watched him through glittering eyes from where he was lounging against the cushions. Ralph noticed his gaze and stopped, slightly unnerved by the dark, hungry look that had slunk into Jack's stare.

"What?" he asked suspiciously.

"_Niente_," Jack replied softly, not breaking eye contact.

Ralph eyed him warily. There was an unreadable expression on Jack's face; a hidden, secretive look that darted away as Ralph tried to fathom it.

"Now who's staring?" asked Jack silkily, leaning over to whisper in Ralph's ear.

Ralph shivered as he felt lips brush against his earlobe, then teeth. Jack's muscled arm was slung casually along the back of the sofa and around his shoulders, and he could not shake the feeling that there was enough power there to kill someone. The thought scared and entranced him at the same time; hesitantly, he turned his head and pressed a shy kiss to the corner of Jack's mouth.

Jack responded minutely; parting his lips to receive ardent, feather-light touches, and delighting in the knowledge that Ralph was gradually becoming accustomed to him; indeed, less afraid of him.

Pulling back, Ralph regarded the redhead uncertainly for a few moments, unsure of whether or not to continue. Jack's gaze had darkened to a deep sapphire hue, and they flickered seductively between Ralph's eyes and lips.

Ralph shivered as Jack's hands slipped around his waist and tightened; nails scratching against smooth, tanned skin and drawing a hiss of pleasure. Jack smirked devilishly at Ralph and pulled him effortlessly onto his lap, lips immediately darting down to brush at the hollow of Ralph's throat.

Ralph shifted in Jack's lap, eliciting a slight groan from the redhead. Leaning back and observing his partner, he watched as Jack bit his lip; eyes closed and brow furrowed. Ralph smirked, and then failed to hide it as Jack cracked open an eye and laughed.

"You filthy tease," Jack drawled with a lewd wink, raising a hand to softly touch Ralph's cheek.

Ralph leaned into the touch, blinking lazily and humming with contentment. Jack was fascinated. He stroked the cheekbones that formed an elegant curve under the skin, running his hands through the golden hair before cupping Ralph's face and kissing him. It was a rough clutch, teeth and tongues and Jack held Ralph to him fervently, desire suddenly uncontrollable.

Ralph gasped with the unprecedented fluctuation of passion; squeezing his eyes closed and responding with as much grace as he could muster while Jack's hands were dragging his t-shirt up his abdomen.

Breaking their embrace, Jack hurriedly pulled the offending garment off over Ralph's head and threw it away, hands at once roaming the new planes of smooth flesh yet undiscovered. Ralph arched with pleasure as teeth scraped across his collarbone and hot, wet breath brought shivers to the surface of his skin.

A sharp rap at the door broke through the haze of desire and Ralph froze with horror.

"_Jesus_," Jack breathed, beginning to pull his own t-shirt off, "Leave it."

Ralph clamped a hand over a surprised Jack's mouth and motioned wildly towards the door.

"It's _him!"_ he hissed urgently. Jack's eyes widened, a myriad of emotions pouring through his mind and forming a confused, angry cocktail. The pair of them remained still for a few seconds, knuckles white and hearts pounding, before the knock came again, louder this time.

"Open up, Ralph," Eric's voice snapped faintly. There was a pause before he added mockingly, "Save me the trouble of breaking in."


	9. Shards

**A/N:** This is going be the last chapter for quite some time, my friends. Seventeen exams are swiftly approaching me and I must unfortunately set aside writing for a while in order to focus. This does _**not**_ mean I am abandoning the story; it shall merely be on hiatus for a couple of months. Many thanks to those who have reviewed, including anonymous ones; you lot are amazing! Enjoy the chapter, you beautiful people! (:

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies belongs to William Golding.

The pair leapt from the sofa at once, immediately consumed by the panic that fluttered in the air around them on awful wings. Ralph dithered painfully for a moment, poised on the agony of indecision, before grabbing Jack's wrist and dragging him roughly out of the living room. For once, Jack's pride had been dissolved by urgency and he allowed himself to be pulled into the hall.

"Open the bloody door!" snapped Eric's muffled voice, accompanied by a sharp rap of knuckles.

"You have to hide," Ralph muttered worriedly, pushing Jack hurriedly in the direction of the bedroom, "Don't make a sound, okay?"

"Where's your t-shirt?" Jack suddenly hissed, eyes widening with alarm.

Ralph glanced down at his bare abdomen for a few seconds before swearing, quite unable to remember where it had ended up. His head hurt. "It doesn't matter. Just stay quiet and everything will be okay. _Go_!"

Jack, surprisingly meek, nodded and slipped into the dim bedroom. He closed the door with a soft click behind him, and Ralph ran for the hall, trying to make as little sound as possible.

Taking a deep breath, the blond turned the latch and pulled the door open with a soft _whoosh_ of wood against carpet. Eric stood there, fuming. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were flashing with humiliation and anger.

"About time," he snapped acidly, eyeing Ralph up and down and cocking an eyebrow coolly at the man's apparent lack of clothing, "I hope I wasn't… interrupting anything?"

"No," denied Ralph, too quickly, biting his tongue as he attempted to catch the word before it spiralled out of control.

Eric glared at him and moved to enter the flat. Ralph automatically shifted sideways to block his path. In the seconds that followed, the air between them suddenly became very cold and tense. A suspicious, accusing look flitted across Eric's face and his eyes darkened with aggression.

"Who's in there?"

"No one," replied Ralph forcefully, "And even if there was, I would have no obligation whatsoever to inform you of such matters. It's none of your business."

"I see." The tone was clipped.

Ralph watched Eric apprehensively, heart hammered wildly within his ribcage. He could almost smell the fear that was emanating from his own bare skin. Supposing Eric could sense the presence of the man who had ultimately been his captor and tormenter? His blood turned to ice. _Oh God, please no._

"Let me pass, please," Eric said in a metallic voice. The sharp edges seemed to prickle through the still air with venomous potency.

"I'm a bit busy," Ralph replied awkwardly, racking his brains for an excuse. His fingers drummed on the doorframe, each ripple of movement shaking the glass demeanour he was attempting to hold in place. His stomach churned and his fingers were slippery with perspiration.

"Of course, I forgot," Eric snarled, "Far too busy to stay with me earlier. I should have been more thoughtful."

"I'm sorry, alright?" Ralph said gruffly, guilt catching in his throat as his hand slipped slightly against the doorframe.

"That doesn't even begin to cover it," Eric growled, "You're meant to be helping me!" A feverish look came into his eyes, "What am I going to do if you forget about me? You clearly don't care about what happened to my brother!"

Ralph gritted his teeth with anger, refusing to react.

"Move." It was more than an order.

Silently, Ralph stepped aside. Eric stalked into the flat like a panther, eyes sliding narrowly from side to side as he made his way slowly into the living room. Every move he made; every step he took sent out undulations of unease that flowed towards Ralph and threatened to burst the protective shield that masked his dishonesty.

"What do you want?" Ralph asked, no longer attempting to hide the defensive, aggressive tone in his voice.

"I want to know exactly what your problem is!" Eric replied angrily, wheeling around and glaring at Ralph, "You're hiding something from me, and I'm going to find out what, you mark my words."

"I'm not hiding anything," retorted Ralph mulishly, "You're the one who's gone round the twist. You're probably making it up just to screw with my mind!"

The words rung in the air before falling to the floor and shattering like glass.

"How _dare_ you?" Eric snarled, beginning to advance on Ralph much like a wolf would approach a deer, "I am not _mad_, contrary to what you might believe, no more than you are! You were there too that night; remember… do you remember what we did?"

Ralph's mouth went dry as he did so. The comfort of the living room faded in and out of focus as distorted images flickered before his mind's eye; the moonlight cascading across choppy waters and gleaming across the backs of dozens of schoolboys, slick with blood and rainwater. _Kill the pig, cut its throat, bash it in…_

Eric was staring at him; a cruel leer of malevolence. It was as though he could see through Ralph's eyes as though they were a window to his soul. "Never say that again."

"Sorry, Eric," Ralph blurted thoughtlessly, realising his mistake too late.

"No!" the invader shrieked, "I am _Sam!"_

With a deranged howl and a sudden flurry of tears, Eric launched unthinkingly himself at Ralph, who, utterly shocked, did not escape in time. All of the air was knocked from his lungs as they collided; Eric immediately scratching, biting and punching every inch of exposed flesh. Ralph staggered backwards due to the force of the impact, before falling.

As if in slow motion, Ralph heard the far-away sound of splintering glass and the creak of bones, before he felt a hot trickle rush from his elbow. Eric was screaming curses as night air flooded into the flat and shards of silver were suspended shimmering in the air. Time stood still as pain erupted though Ralph's arm.

And then Jack was there. He slammed into Eric with vicious ferocity, away from the broken window and away from Ralph who slid down the wall, cradling his shredded arm. The fighting duo crashed into the coffee table and fell over it; Jack's head smacking painfully against the corner.

"No!" Eric screamed as he realised who it was, eyes alight with terror as Jack knocked him bodily to the floor. Jack punched him with a grunt, relishing the crack of knuckles against cartilage. Eric writhed madly, escaping Jack's grasp and bolting away, blood running swiftly from his nose and gurgling against his lips as he tried to talk.

Ralph croaked in protestation as Eric disappeared into the hall, the fire in his forearm blocking out all rational thought. The front door was slammed shut before silence flooded the flat, followed by the dull, mournful sounds of traffic outside.

It was all over as quickly as it had begun. Minutes passed in aching silence.

Jack was panting on the floor, flat on his back. There was blood on his hands and his head, and his chest rose and fell with his still-accelerated breathing. Ralph closed his eyes, grasping his elbow and trying not to cry out with the agony of it all. His mind was numb and thoughtless.

"Ralph," Jack muttered groggily, coming to his senses as the icy night air washed over him through the jagged dark pane of the broken window.

"I'm here," Ralph said in a rasp, shifting slightly and feeling glass crunch like sand underneath his hands. His voice trembled, "He's gone, I think."

Jack sat up, a dazed expression on his face that mingled with the gore. He touched fluttering fingers to the wound on his temple, paling slightly as he did so. His eyes wandered to where Ralph sat hunched against the wall, before catapulting into a surge of concern.

"Oh my God," he said, immediately on his feet and rushing over. He crouched down beside Ralph and stared at the damage in awe. There were shards of glass still protruding from his skin, with the finer grit like dust of ivory that nestled in the grooves that had been freshly opened in his flesh. "Shit," Jack breathed, touching a finger to the mess cautiously.

"I think it's broken," Ralph murmured dazedly, feeling a wave of headiness rolling over him like an ocean.

"You need to go to hospital," Jack said, voice surprisingly calm and practical considering the events that had occurred not long ago.

Ralph nodded, allowing Jack to gently ease an arm around him and help him to his feet. The thick blood rushed to his head and he faltered, hands outstretched for support. Jack grasped his hands immediately, murmured soft comforts and brushing lips against Ralph's sweaty brow.

"Where are your keys?" Jack asked softly, "I'll drive."

"Pocket," Ralph said dully, leaning heavily on Jack as a hand slipped into his pocket and the chink of keys penetrated his unstable consciousness.

"Can you walk?" Jack asked uncertainly. Ralph nodded vaguely, ignoring the blackness that was clouding his vision and making him reel. Jack sighed and put the keys in his own pocket, hoisting Ralph into his arms in one surprisingly fluid motion.

For a moment, Ralph protested, before a surge of nausea rolled over him and he closed his eyes, sweat prickling the skin of his forehead. He no longer cared.

Jack walked across the room, careful not to jar Ralph's arm as he bent slightly to pick up his leather jacket from where it lay across the back of the sofa. "You're going to have to wear this, mate. You won't be able to put a t-shirt on and you can't go out like that."

As they made their way out of the flat and into the freezing street, neither could help looking around warily, as though their enemy was lurking in every creeping shadow. Ralph closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against Jack's warm chest, blocking out the chilling sight of the watchful trees and their dark, reaching branches.

* * *

The soft glow of the lamp was reflected in Ralph's eyes as he gazed dully at the wall. The events of the day had left him drained and weary, and his muscles seemed to sag within him as though weighed down. He was uncomfortably lying on his side in Jack's bed, trying to avoid putting pressure upon his damaged ribs or broken arm.

The visit to the hospital had been monochromatic and emotionless. Jack had paced endlessly, unable to sit down or think rationally. Ralph could only faintly remember the pattern of the tiles in the dingy waiting room and the endless confusion of the doctor's probing questions.

The door sighed open. Ralph's gaze flickered over to see Jack padding into the room, a damp cloth pressed to the side of his head. There was a dark, withdrawn look on his handsome face; one that Ralph could not quite fathom.

"Are you okay?" the blond asked softly, not moving from the warm patch of duvet that gave him a tiny shred of comfort.

Jack nodded moodily, dropping the bloody rag onto the bedside table with a look of distaste before crawling onto the bed and lying down. Ralph closed his eyes and revelled in the warmth that soon enveloped him as Jack wriggled closer to him and slipped an affectionate arm around his waist.

As the sky outside faded to black, the air grew colder. Jack breathed softly on Ralph's ear to warm it, and tried to rub away the goosebumps that raised the tiny, downy hairs on his neck. Eventually, shivers made their way down Ralph's spine, and Jack pulled the duvet over the pair of them and they lay cocooned together in the silent darkness.

"What if he finds us?" Ralph breathed after a while, turning his head ever so slightly until he felt Jack's nose touching his cheek. It was a question he had been meaning to ask for some time, yet found himself unable to whisper the words.

"He won't."

"But what if he _does?"_

"Then I'll deal with him," Jack replied quietly, fingers tightening with anger where they lay, linked with Ralph's. He scowled, burying his face in Ralph's hair and closing his sore, tired eyes. His mind wandered back to the prophecy that Marie had made in her living room that night. _You will be faced with an old enemy without any means to defend yourself…_

Jack shivered and pressed himself closer to Ralph, squeezing much too tightly. Ralph made a few noises of protest, careful not to knock his arm, turning in Jack's embrace until they were nose to nose in the dim cavern they had created.

"I'm scared," Ralph admitted softly, staring at the slivers of colours that interlocked and shifted in Jack's irises, "I can't go back to my flat. Not while he's out there."

"No, you mustn't," Jack agreed darkly. He pressed a fierce kiss to Ralph's forehead and continued, "You're going to come and live here with me for the time being."

"I can't do that," Ralph said in wonder, surprised by the sincerity that burned in Jack's eyes.

"Of course you can," Jack said fervently, "I'm not letting you out of my sight from now on. He's not going to lay a hand on you."

"But what about…" Ralph gestured vaguely to the floor.

"Marie will adore you, I promise," Jack said with a wry smile, "She loves taking care of people, so you're in the perfect state for her to fuss over you."

"Okay," Ralph said uncertainly, letting his head rest in the crook of Jack's elbow, "So long as it's not going to cause any trouble for either of you."

"None whatsoever," Jack said softly, idly smoothing the blond hair from Ralph's forehead before yawning and settling back against the pillows, "It'll be nice, having you around."

Ralph smiled tiredly and let his eyes drift shut, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his arm. The cast was scratchy and stiff, and he squirmed uncomfortably. At once, Jack's hand was there in a gesture of comfort, resting on his smooth chest with a reassuring pressure. As they gradually fell asleep, plagued with strange dreams, Ralph could still feel the hand smoothed so lovingly against his heart; dry flakes of coppery blood still under the fingernails.


	10. Snowflakes

**A/N:** Oh, it's so good to be back. Finally, exams are gone and I have two months of pure freedom before school starts again! And naturally, I will fill said months with lots and lots of writing. Love and thanks to all reviewers last chapter and to those who wished me luck in my exams. They did go surprisingly well! (: I hope you guys like this chapter as much!

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies belongs to William Golding.

* * *

The morning dawned bright and cold, with the promise of snow in the low, colourless sky. The pale shafts of chilly sunlight penetrated the crack in the curtains and brightened the gloom of the bedroom that was still curtained at eleven o'clock in the morning.

Ralph shifted groggily; eyes heavy with sleep. He grimaced as he felt pins and needles tickling the skin of his broken arm and the dull ache of the bruise that darkened his ribs. Lying still for a few moments, he realised that something was amiss. There was a musky scent that lingered tangibly in the air around him, and Ralph gradually became aware of the presence of another. His eyes shot open.

A pair of bolting blue irises stared back at him. Ralph's stomach lurched with a mixture of pleasure and nervousness as he realised Jack was sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans.

"Guess what?" the redhead sang gleefully, brandishing a piece of paper at Ralph.

Ralph's brow furrowed. He struggled to shift himself upwards in bed; his arm stiff and immoveable. "Tell me." His voice was rough and husky.

"I got the job!" Jack exploded at once, bouncing on the bed like an over-excited child. He was alive with enthusiasm, the letter of acceptance crumpled in his fist. Ralph couldn't help but smile at the sight, before leaning back against the pillows and rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Jack flourished the letter and began to speak in a reedy, nasal voice, _"Despite minor faults with aperture and focus in some photographs, the majority were impressive and showed a high standard of creativity, in particular the collection entitled 'Deity and Mortal'… _boring… _should you still wish to accept the position we have made ready for you, you are expected at… _blah, blah, blah… _we look forward to meeting you and introducing you to prospective clients!_" Jack finished excitedly.

"Well done, Jack," Ralph said, a teasing smirk creeping across his face, "But it would never have happened without my faultless modelling!" he joked, laughing as Jack did.

"Shut it, you!" Jack said fondly, tossing the crumpled letter off the side of the bed and crawling back under the duvet. He collapsed against the pillows with a sigh, resting his pointed chin on Ralph's shoulder like a curious pet would.

Ralph turned and brushed his nose affectionately against Jack's temple, "I'm only joking. You deserve it."

"Thanks," Jack said happily, seeming to have forgotten the trauma of the previous day. He suddenly grinned, startling Ralph as usual with the alarmingly wolfish teeth that seemed too numerous to be quite human. "You're still going to have to help me, you know…" he said, sliding a seductive hand across the muscled plane of Ralph's stomach, "You're much too pretty to be a wallflower. The camera beckons…"

Ralph shivered with desire as Jack began to unbutton, almost idly, the shirt Ralph had borrowed to sleep in. His fingers were deft and well-practiced, and Ralph wondered for a fleeing second how many other people had fallen prey to Jack Merridew's silken words.

Jack slipped the shirt off carefully, easing it over Ralph's broken arm, before dropping it carelessly to the side. He eyed the blond's tanned chest, a lewd smirk crossing his face.

"Much better," he purred, bowing his head to touch his hot tongue to Ralph's exposed skin. Ralph drew in a sharp breath at the sight; hissing softly as the redhead bit gently, teasingly. Jack chuckled, deep in his throat, before sliding out of bed and heading towards the door. Ralph furrowed his brow, confused by the sudden departure.

"Where are you - ?"

"Come on!" Jack snapped as he disappeared through the door, "Breakfast!"

Ralph struggled out of bed and bent to pick up the shirt from where it lay on the floor. Despite the desire to earn more of Jack's appreciation of his appearance, he felt exposed; naked to the hunter's gaze. But as he picked up the shirt from the floor, Jack's voice floated from the kitchen.

"Leave it. Breakfast will be no fun otherwise."

* * *

Dr Andrews sat very still in his chair; head bowed and fingers steepled together solemnly. The only sound to be heard was the laboured ticking of the grandfather clock that stood resplendently in the corner of his office. Time trickled past like water.

"Are you sure of what you saw?" Dr Andrews asked eventually.

"Positive," said Eric feverishly, "It was him." He was sitting in the chair in front of the desk; a pale, sweaty complexion on his face and spidery hands that shook and trembled. A faint line of perspiration was visible on his unshaved upper lip. He clutched a tissue in his fist; primarily for the sudden nosebleeds which he was now prone to, since Jack's punches to his face the previous night.

"This is most irregular," said the doctor, pushing back his chair and standing up. The buttons of his waistcoat strained as its capacity swelled. He began to pace the short space behind his desk. "Are you _absolutely_ sure?"

"Bloody hell, yes!" snapped Eric, "How many times do I have to say it? Look at the fucking bruises!"

Springing from his seat and striding forwards, Eric ripped up his sleeves to reveal a dark mass of fingerprints and marks that littered his pale skin. Dr Andrews' face paled as the young man turned around and lifted his shirt slightly. A huge, painful-looking bruise sprawled on his back and thickened his flesh like a tumour.

"My God," the doctor breathed. He swallowed nervously with a ripple of jowls.

"He's going to come and get me," Eric keened throatily, dropping despondently back into his chair. He seemed utterly unable to keep still; even as he sat, his fingers twisted together feverishly and he rocked himself back and forth. "I know it. Oh my God… Oh, God! he's going to come and kill me, just like he killed my brother!"

"I highly doubt that after ten years…" Dr Andrews started.

"You don't know him!" Eric shouted, sitting bolt upright with terror burning in his eyes, "He'll track me down like an animal! You can't even begin to imagine how he'll torture me. Even my brother -," he broke off; breathing becoming laboured as he panicked.

"Calm down, son," Dr Andrews said soothingly, but Eric shot out of his seat as though doused with boiling water.

"How _dare_ you tell me to calm down!" he shrieked with renewed fury; hands clawing at the air with sheer desperation, "he's going to hunt me down and murder me when I can't run any longer!"

"Eric, if you don't stop shouting, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," said Dr Andrews in a firm, commanding voice.

Incensed, Eric yelled hoarsely, "You're acting as if nothing's wrong! He's even got _Ralph_ on his side, do you understand what that means, you fucking idiot?"

"Eric, quiet!" commanded the doctor loudly, standing up.

"I will _not_ be quiet!" Eric roared, tasting blood on his tongue with the strain of prolonged screaming. He started forward aggressively, intent on making the doctor understand.

Dr Andrews, however, was a quick-witted man, despite the outward appearance of a very aged, deliberate old tortoise. Before Eric had even taken another stride, the gnarled old hand was slammed firmly against the emergency button on the underside of the desk. Within seconds, the door had burst open and people were flooding the room. Eric stopped dead; eyes wide and anxious like a startled deer, before making a desperate attempt to bolt for the door.

"Stop right there, son!" shouted Dr Andrews.

The emergency team surged forwards and engulfed Eric, who began to shriek and writhe in their many-handed grip. His eyes were wide and starting from their sockets; the tiny scarlet capillaries bulging.

"No! Let me go!" he hollered, thrashing wildly against their offending grasp, "Get off me, you bastards!" His body twisted impossibly as he attempted to make good his escape, before he froze. There, in the centre of the circle, Eric whimpered as he recognised the scene. The tight ring of doctors and nurses seemed to shimmer and change into the pulsing knot of naked hunters; paint beginning to run due to sweat and breathing becoming harsh and laboured. Unconsciously, he struggled to escape the horseshoe.

He was brought sharply back to reality when a nurse yelped in pain. His flailing hand had caught her a glancing blow on the side of the neck. He bucked madly, frightened, before a fist thumped against the side of his neck. The prick of a needle was all he felt before the ground opened its jaws and swallowed him up.

"Gotcha…"

* * *

"More carrots, Ralph?" Marie asked sweetly, beaming at him from across the table.

"No thank you," he replied politely, placing his knife and fork carefully together on his empty plate, "It was a lovely meal though; you really didn't need to go to so much effort."

"Not at all, my dear, not at all! It was no trouble whatsoever. It's been lovely meeting you at last," she said warmly, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms over her generous bosom, "Jack's been so mysterious about you, haven't you, dear?"

Jack looked up. "Maybe."

Ralph glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a slightly mocking smirk curling his lip. Jack glared.

"Me and Ralph will do our best to stay out of your way," Jack continued, "We don't want to cause any trouble for you."

"_Ralph and I_," corrected Marie primly, smoothing the brocade of her heavy winter dress, "Grammar first, Jack! And that will be quite unnecessary. You bright young things spend far too much time alone and brooding; I insist on having your company! You can't keep Ralph _all_ to yourself, you know."

Ralph sensed, rather than saw, the muscles in Jack's forearms tighten.

"Of course," he interrupted, before the redhead could let anything slip, "That's far too kind of you, Marie."

"You're a good boy," she cooed affectionately, getting laboriously to her feet and beginning to gather the dishes, "Perhaps you can teach Jack here some manners," she added with a chuckle, disappearing into the kitchen.

"I have manners," Jack objected with a sniff, "Don't I?"

Ralph looked at him; eyebrow raised incredulously, "No."

"Oh."

There was a thoughtful pause, broken by Marie's return. She looked slightly worried; hands fumbling clumsily together as she addressed Jack.

"Dear, do you know where my pills are? I forgot to take them before dinner."

"You sit down, Marie," Jack said at once, leaping up and heading swiftly for the kitchen, anxiety clear in the lines of his young face, "They're on the top shelf, I'll get them."

Ralph looked in concern at Marie as she dropped heavily into her favourite armchair. "Are you alright? Is there anything I can get you?"

"Bless you, no," she replied with a weak smile, "I have a dodgy heart; it's hardly anything to worry about. The doctor says it happens to a lot of people when they get to my grand old age."

Ralph nodded; taking silent note of her trembling hands and the way her eyes flickered around the room as though trying to escape from something. Just then, Jack returned with a glass of water and a few tablets that he passed to her, watching carefully to ensure that she took them all.

"Perhaps we should call it a night now," she said quietly, looking between the two men who stood awkwardly, not sure of what to do.

"Right," Jack said, nodding. He glanced at Ralph, "Okay?"

Ralph smiled briefly, turning to Marie. "Thank you very much for letting me stay with Jack. It's more kindness than I could have expected."

"My dear boy, there's no need to thank me. It's perfectly awful to think of you alone in that flat while you're so poorly! It must have been a nasty fall down those stairs," she said sympathetically.

Ralph shifted uncomfortably, "Yeah, it was. Not to worry though. Ready to go, Jack?"

"It's snowing," Jack said softly. The other two turned to look out of the dark window. Sure enough, flakes like tiny ghosts were floating past the pane; silent and beautiful. For several seconds, there was pure silence as nature took its course; a fragile, tender moment that shattered as soon as Jack said, "Well, thanks again, Marie. Come on, Ralph."

The pair of them left the room quietly; Ralph taking great care to close the door quietly after they had passed through. Once they were in the darkened hall, they gazed at each other solemnly, eyes almost luminous in the shadows.

"Is she okay?" Ralph asked lowly, the faint sound echoing around the chilly room.

Jack shifted uneasily, saying, "I don't know. She always insists that there's nothing wrong, but anyone can see that that's not true." He twisted his hands together anxiously; eyes wide and reproachful. "Shall we go for a walk?"

Taken aback by the sudden change of topic, Ralph nodded. They quietly collected coats and scarves from the hooks by the door before slipping out into the dark of the night.

* * *

The park was deserted at such a late hour. The continuous flurry of snow made the landscape look blurred, while the bright full moon sent silvery rays to glint eerily off the white ground. The wind had calmed, but there was still an icy chill that seemed almost to float in the still air.

"I love this place at night," Jack said quietly as they wandered aimlessly through the untouched snow, "It's like you're the only person in the world."

Ralph nodded slowly, pulling his coat more tightly around himself to keep warm. A solitary crow floated like a spectre through the air above them, alighting on the branch of a tree and causing a sudden sprinkling of snow onto the dead earth below.

"But now you're here."

Ralph slowed to a stop, unsure whether or not Jack was regretting his decision to accommodate him for the time being. Jack halted too, hair ruffling in the slight breeze.

"What?"

Ralph swallowed nervously, "I can leave if – if you want me to…"

Jack raised a cool eyebrow. "If you think there's any way I'm letting you out of my sight, you can think again, my pretty little pig."

Ralph blushed. Jack smirked, stalking closer and pulling Ralph into a bruising hug. He muttered against the blond hair, "You're such a muppet."

"Well you're over-protective," retorted Ralph sullenly, nose pressed tightly against Jack's leather-clad shoulder. He felt a shudder of laughter ripple through the redhead's body and pulled back, curious.

"Someone's got to look out for you," Jack said huskily, eyes glowing bright in the silvery phosphorescence of the night. He held Ralph at arm's length, "You're not big enough to do it yourself."

"Excuse me!" Ralph barked, struggling at once against Jack's iron grip, "I am perfectly capable of looking after myself!"

Jack watched him with a tigerish smirk. He was far more powerful physically than Ralph, and was therefore able to keep him in place with ease, especially now that the blond was injured. Ralph wriggled to no avail, teeth gritted and muscles straining under smooth tanned skin. To Jack, it was all highly arousing. He cocked his head to one side, a cheeky smile on his face as he said, "Are you quite finished?"

Ralph glared at him; held firmly in the hunter's grasp. His hair was disarrayed and there were two points of colour on his high cheekbones. His arms were taut with the effort of attempted escape and he had a wild, savage look that burned in his eye like that of an unbroken horse. Jack surveyed him with interest.

"You look hot."

Ralph stared in astonishment, unable to keep track of Jack's train of thought. Before he could begin to articulate his confusion, Jack had bent and pressed warm, seductive lips against Ralph's own.

The blond was taken aback for a few seconds, before his eyes fluttered closed and he focused on returning the kiss; slow, deliberate movements that sparked desire within both participants. The scent of Jack was all around him; heady and musky; drowning his senses with sweet intoxication.

Jack's hands roamed up Ralph's lean back, tracing the muscle and feeling the warmth that emanated from his skin. They parted for air, breathing heavily and gazing warily at each other. Ralph leaned in closer, pressing kisses against Jack's jaw, before nibbling a wet, burning trail to his ear, finding it to be an unexpectedly erogenous zone.

Jack hissed through his teeth and groaned at Ralph nipped and kissed the soft skin. Sliding his hands into the blond's back pockets, he squeezed Ralph's backside and dragged him roughly closer, relishing in the tight heat of their proximity. Ralph murmured against his ear; the vibrations sending shivers down Jack's spine.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who needs looking after."

* * *

Ten miles away, Eric lay alone in a dim white room. His vision was blurry and confused, but he did not yet have the strength to rub his eyes. The sedative still clung to the walls of his veins like a stubborn residue, so he lay weakly against the crisp, clean pillows.

Snow was drifting past the window as though it had nowhere in particular to go. Eric turned slowly, stiffly, and huddled into a ball under the thin sheets. It was bitterly cold, and the excited shouts and shrieks of the people playing in the park nearby floated like dust up to the cracks in the window frame.

His eyes darkened to the very blackest shades of malevolence. He listened to their freedom and he burned.


	11. Evil

**A/N:** Bonjour my darlings and welcome to chapter eleven… I must apologise for the later-than-expected upload; some unexpected family issues cropped up at just the wrong time. I hope this chapter makes up for it. As usual, comments are greatly loved and I will try to reply to each of them individually! Peace out, comrades.

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies belongs to William Golding.

* * *

Adrenaline was coursing through Jack's veins like acid as he glided like a ghost up the front drive towards the doors of the mental institution. His eyes were bright and glittering in the pale dawn light. The wintery sun was just beginning to creep above the skeletal trees, giving them a silvery tinge as the redhead moved up the stone steps and slipped through the doors.

He could hear his heart hammering wildly in his chest as the clinical, starchy smell invaded his nostrils and illuminated a trail of revenge to his heart like a line of gunpowder. The overwhelming importance of what he was about to do made everything in the room take on a surreal appearance as though the colour on the television set had been turned up just slightly too high.

Jack blinked calmly and looked around. It was distinctly hospital-like, but the staff had evidently attempted to give the place a more homely feel for the more long term residents of the institution. There were paintings hanging on the otherwise emotionless walls; paintings of flowers, trees and mellow sunrises… Jack eyed them coldly.

A pretty blonde nurse looked up from her paperwork as he reached the welcome desk, giving him a warm, lipsticked smile. "Can I help you?" she asked, laying down her fountain pen and smiling coyly up at him. _She clearly didn't see enough people in this godforsaken place._

"Good morning. I'm here to visit my cousin," Jack said smoothly, giving the girl his most charming smile.

"You're here very early," she commented chirpily, evidently in hopes of keeping him there longer. Her eyes lingered on the faint outline of his chest under his white t-shirt.

"I'm an early riser," Jack answered with a devilish grin, "can you tell me which room he's in?"

"Of course I can," she said brightly, picking up her pen and flicking expertly through a stapled booklet of papers. She glanced up at him from under long eyelashes, "Name?"

"Eric Murphy," Jack said without a pause. Savage excitement simmered feverishly in his gut as he spoke the name of his nemesis.

Almost immediately, the nurse stopped looking through her paper stack and looked directly at him, "I don't think I can do that for you, sir," she began nervously, eyes flickering between Jack's own, "I'm not really supposed to allow anyone to see him."

"Yes, the doctors told me on the telephone that he was being difficult," Jack continued with a hint of reproach, before glancing at her coolly, "I'm more than tough enough to deal with him, ma'am, don't you worry. He trusts me, anyway. It'll be fine."

The nurse dithered for a few moments, gazing into his eyes. "I'm not sure… I'd have to speak to my supervisor…"

"I'm sure you're more than capable of making a few… _executive_ decisions," Jack said silkily, leaning a hand on the desk and letting his eyes drift across the porcelain skin of the girl's throat before returning to her eyes. She blushed furiously, dropping her eyes and fumbling clumsily with her papers.

"Of course," Jack continued in a deep, rhythmic purr, "If I'm _too_ much for you to handle, I'm happy to wait to speak to somebody who holds greater authority…"

The nurse nibbled her bottom lip, high spots of colour in her cheeks. Jack tried to ignore the white-hot impatience that burned within him at the sight of her incompetence.

"I guess I could bend the rules just this once," she said with quiet excitement in her voice, "It'll be our little secret."

Jack smiled tightly, trying not to let his impatience twist it into a sneer. The nurse made a show of getting up from her chair, allowing the hem of her skirt to rise much higher than necessary for the action. Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"This way," she said, beckoning him with a manicured finger.

For a few minutes, he followed her in silence down the white corridors; footsteps echoing eerily around them. Her sly backwards glances went unheeded as Jack gazed at the floor and the occasional stain that marred its monochromatic surface.

"Here you go," said the nurse eventually, halting at the thirteenth door. Jack licked dry lips and nodded, ignoring her miffed expression at his inadequate goodbye. He waited until the sound of her footsteps had died away before reaching out a shaking hand to the doorknob.

The door slid open with barely a sound; just the faint swish of wood across carpet. The room was small and bare; containing just a bed and bedside table. The figure in the bed was as still as marble as Jack crept softly towards it; heart pounding hard in his throat and sweat lacing his hairline. Eric's face was emotionless in sleep, and Jack noticed with approval the leather straps that kept his wrists fastened securely to the edge of the bed.

Silently, Jack drew up the wooden chair that sat meekly by the bed and lowered himself onto it, careful not to make a sound.

Minutes passed in silence, and the sun rose higher in the sky; illuminating the dust motes that floated hazily near the window. Eric's brow furrowed and he twitched under the thin blankets. Jack's eyes narrowed. The patient began to stir with a quiet exhalation of air, and his eyelids fluttered sleepily against the bright, cold sunlight.

At the very moment that Eric's gaze fell upon Jack, the hunter sprang forward and slapped a rough hand down across his mouth that opened to scream frantically.

For the next few minutes, the pair were a silent, struggling strain of limbs; Eric twisting madly under the blanket, held by his restraints, and the sinews in Jack's arms trembling with the effort of maintaining his python-like grip on the twin's skull. Eric's eyes rolled in their sockets, tears escaping from the corners and trickling towards his ears with the overwhelming panic that had encapsulated him.

"Shut up," Jack hissed, digging his fingernails into the pliant skin of Eric's jaw, _"Shut your face."_

The shouts that were reflected from Jack's hand and sent into the abyss of silence gradually lessened, but the trapped man was apparently incapable of ceasing his thrashing. Jack leant his full weight upon the hand that covered his prey's mouth, listening with relish to the groan of agony the action exacted, and slipped the other into his leather jacket. Eric's eyes widened into whiteness as he saw the shimmering blade of Jack's old hunting knife emerge stealthily, still bearing the nicks in the wooden hilt that counted his island kills.

"Unless you do _exactly_ what I say," Jack whispered silkily, "I have absolutely no problem with sticking this into your guts."

Eric gave a strangled growl, eyes rolling back into his head with rage. Jack slowly lifted the pressure from Eric's mouth and, when he was satisfied that his prisoner wasn't going to make any further noise, sat down upon his chair. A dark trickle of blood was running from Eric's visible wrist where the leather strap had dug into his flesh. Jack watched with lips slightly parted as a droplet fell and flinked on the carpet below, before returning his concentration to Eric.

For several minutes, they remained in silence. Jack watched his prisoner carefully, ready to pounce should he start screaming.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here," said the redhead slowly, tapping a fingernail against the blade of his knife. Eric remained silent, eyes darting feverishly around the room from where he lay, weak against his pillows.

"I'm going to kill you," Jack explained with quiet menace, "If you should even attempt to go near Ralph again. Do you understand?"

Eric glared, looking for all the world like a mutinous toad that has been plucked from its favourite flowerbed. He watched Jack in much the same way that a cat would watch a bird; biding its time…

"I said," Jack snapped, "_Do you understand?"_

The prisoner nodded, shrinking back into his pillows as Jack continued to speak in a low, rapid voice. "I don't know what the fuck you want with him, and I don't particularly care. All I care about is keeping you as far away from him as I can."

"Why?" came the husky whisper from the bed.

Jack gave him a cold smile. "Ralph is mine. Not yours. He belongs to _me._"

Eric's eyes narrowed slightly. The expression on his face was one of quiet cunning and evil. Every aspect of his demeanour sent shivers running up and down Jack's spine; the slight curl of one corner of his mouth, the thin arms that were fastened either side in a twisted parody of a crucifix, and most of all the pale eyes that burned with silent malice.

"Not for long."

Jack stared at the figure in the bed. It was so still it could have been an effigy on a tomb; but the eyes glittered too brightly to be dead. All of a sudden, he felt terrified. It was the feeling that he had felt all those years ago in the darkness of a tropical forest; the feeling of being _hunted_.

He stood up abruptly. "What the hell do you mean?"

Eric coughed nastily, ignoring the flecks of spittle that spattered onto his chin. He gave Jack a horrible smile, "It's only a matter of time before he realised who you are… _what _you are. I won't let him fall prey to you like my brother did," here he shook his head imperiously, "If I wait long enough, the worm will turn…"

Jack stared at him, bewildered and angry. His hands were trembling where they hung by his sides. He tried to put this demon into the shape of a young twelve-year-old, grinning with his twin and lying panting on the beach like a contented dog. It was fruitless.

"You don't know Ralph like I do," said Jack quietly, "You don't care for him like I do. How could you ever save him from me?"

Eric was silent. His pale eyes gleamed malevolently in the pale dawn light. As Jack slipped like a shadow from the room, the patient settled back against his pillows; half-formed plans already knitting together in his mind like a healing wound.

* * *

Jack cut the engine of his motorbike and remained seated outside Marie's house. The events of the morning had left him with a heightened sense of vulnerability and protectiveness of Ralph. He closed his eyes wearily, wondering whether his companion was awake yet or had decided to sleep in. A soft breeze played across his face like cool fingers and he breathed deeply, attempting to calm himself.

After stretching tiredly, Jack slowly dismounted the motorcycle and headed towards the front door. He could hear the sound of a siren in the distance; an almost eerie wailing that sounded like a mournful wolf's howl.

He unlocked the door and pushed it quietly open, stomach twitching slightly with excitement as he detected the faintest trace of Ralph's aftershave that lingered in the dark hall. He glanced around the room, and suddenly stopped. The telephone was hanging off the hook as though thrown down in a hurry. It moved chillingly back and forth like a pendulum.

"Ralph?" Jack called worriedly.

"Jack!" The yell was harsh and desperate.

Immediately, Jack sprinted down the corridor towards the living room door, frantically scrabbling at the handle and bursting through. Stumbling as he wheeled around the corner, he looked around to see Ralph kneeling on the floor over Marie's spread-eagled body. Time stood still. The floor beneath him seemed to lurch and he staggered slightly. He barely saw Ralph attempting chest compressions; there was just Marie's barren, empty eyes and the sound of the sirens getting louder and louder…

* * *

Ralph sat alone in the hospital waiting room, trying his best to ignore its other occupants. The ceiling fan did nothing to move the muggy air. The stench of detergent and urine was burning his nostrils and he huddled into his coat, attempting to block out the rest of the world.

After waking up alone, Ralph had chastised himself for wondering where Jack was. It wasn't as though he had any right to know Jack's whereabouts, seeing as he was a guest in his house. But as minutes stretched into hours, and the sun had risen silently into the pale sky, worry had blossomed like a bruise within him.

Even before he had found Marie lying on her living room carpet, the overwhelming silence of the place had unnerved him as he had drifted idly around, nosing through Jack's possessions and nibbling on dry toast. _If only he'd got to her earlier… the ambulance would have been there quicker…_

A child began to grizzle in the waiting room. Ralph bit his fist with frustration, the unsettling squalls already taking a toll on his brewing migraine. The constant hum of conversation in the crowded room, the ringing of various telephones and the hustle and bustle of doctors and nurses passing through was making him steadily more and more anxious to leave. He closed his eyes when the mother of the crying infant began to chastise her offspring in a loud, rough voice.

"Hey."

At the sound of Jack's lowered voice, Ralph opened his eyes and turned sharply. The redhead had settled quietly in the seat next to him, looking tired and wan. There were dark rings under his eyes and his hollow cheeks looked even more unhealthy than usual.

"What happened?" asked Ralph quietly, dreading the answer.

"She's not dead," Jack said throatily, noticing the relief that spread across Ralph's worried face, "But the doctors say that… that there isn't r-really much time left, you know?"

Ralph nodded, eyes solemn and sympathetic. He wished that the rest of the people in the room would melt away so that he could take Jack in his arms and sooth away his sorrow.

"She was asking for us before she – she went into the coma," Jack went on raspily, refusing to meet Ralph's gaze. His voice trembled slightly, "I think we should go and see her."

Ralph nodded. They stood up and wove their way through the maze of stained chairs until they headed out into the corridor. Once they were safe from prying eyes, Ralph slipped his hand into Jack's and squeezed tightly.

The smallest signs of their affection were a comfort to them both, and as they entered the intensive care room that contained nothing but an empty husk of a woman, it was all they had left. As evening crept past and swallowed them up, Jack and Ralph clung together in the half light; fingernails carving little crescent moons into the backs of each other's hands. Tiny red marks that would keep them both coping; at least until they faded away.


	12. Edge

**A/N:** Hey guys! Firstly, I am so sorry for the shocking lateness of this chapter. So so so SO sorry! I feel so guilty! Blehh. I promise to try harder next time. Thank you reviewers; you really made this work worthwhile by letting me know what you thought! I'm finding it incredibly challenging to write and your support is super helpful. The climax of the story is now rapidly approaching; I don't think it'll stretch beyond another few chapters. If anyone has plot bunnies for future LOTF stories I'd love to hear them!

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies belongs to William Golding.

* * *

The gilded dust motes floated lazily past the window as the sun crept up over the horizon of the hospital grounds and poured its chill, wintery light into the room. Jack's eyes cracked blearily open as the brightness penetrated his consciousness. His head was muggy and his brain felt as though it was full of some hazy, soft substance. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, disliking the stiff feel of his clothes against his skin and the sharp, stale taste inside his mouth.

Ralph's head was heavy against his shoulder. Its owner was fast asleep; a slight frown marring the usually smooth brow, and eyes flickering this way and that beneath his lids as though caught in a bad dream. Jack rested his cheek back down against the soft, downy blond hair and watched as his breath ruffled it slightly.

Jack's eyes drifted back to the white starched bed where the old body lay as though devoid of any living thing. The slow, uneven rise and fall of her chest was barely visible and her face was oddly empty. A lump suddenly rose painfully in Jack's throat at the thought of all the times he had neglected to spend time with her, to talk to her… he swallowed with a gulp, trying to ignore the prickling at the back of his eyes.

_You never appreciate what you've got until it's gone…_ Jack pressed his lips together in a tight line to prevent any trembling. Every fibre of his soul was aching with regret. He sat upright and rigid; hands gripping his knees rather painfully, back slightly arched.

"Jack…"

The voice was barely a whisper. Jack glanced idly down at Ralph's face; completely immobile and undisturbed in sleep. He had not spoken. Jack furrowed his brow in confusion before his gaze leapt at once to the bed.

Marie had not moved an inch, but Jack could just see the faint light of her dimming pupils in the gap between her eyelids. His heart gave a great, sickening lurch within his chest and, hardly daring to believe what he saw, he nudged Ralph softly off his shoulder and rose in the quiet, shadowy hospital room. His mouth was dry and rough; moving his swollen tongue past his teeth did nothing to alleviate the unpleasant sensation.

"Hey," he said waveringly, hovering nervously at the side of her bed. She didn't reply, but her eyelids flickered feebly as if narrowing them against a gust of wind. Her skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat and Jack could clearly see her pulse tapping frantically away in her jugular. Fear washed over him in terrible waves as her eyes eased shut again.

"Marie?" he asked in a small voice, squatting down and shaking her arm gently. Her flesh was cool and pliant, not flinching under his touch.

He could feel the tremors of her laboured breathing shuddering through her body, and tried not to look at the empty expression writing itself across her face. Tears sprang to his eyes, suddenly and unwelcome, as a low, husky hiss of air exuded from her lips and she seemed, as though in slow motion, to sag in on herself. For several seconds there was pure silence. The air in front of Jack's eyes seemed to shimmer with a silvery phosphorescence. Standing up shakily, unable to feel his feet, he jerked the alarm cord that hung next to the bed and stood unmoving as a stream of nurses began to hurry into the room.

For several seconds, the scene before him was just a hazy confusion of colours as he stared numbly at their attempts to retrieve life that had already been spirited away. He slowly turned his back on the bed, barely able to stay standing. The floor seemed to be swaying underneath his feet, and he madly wondered why he was unsettled by this when he had come face-to-face with death so many times…

Just before his knees buckled, a warm body pressed itself tightly against his own and strong, safe arms circumvented his waist. Jack pressed his nose hard into Ralph's shoulder and screwed his eyes closed, not paying any attention to the nurses as they bustled past like leaves in a breeze. The blond smelled so wonderfully _alive_. Tears crept back to his eyes once more and a shudder of grief wracked his frame.

"I'm here," Ralph comforted gently, digging his nails into Jack's back to reassure him. They swayed slightly on the spot, locked together and inseparable.

Jack staggered slightly, and Ralph grabbed his arm in support. Tenderly but firmly, he led the redhead back to the chairs and sat him down, immediately settling beside him and curling comforting fingers into his hair.

"Is she g-gone?" Jack croaked after a while. Ralph glanced up nervously to receive a sympathetic nod from one of the nurses. His throat went dry and he had to swallow painfully before muttering assent.

Jack bent forwards and buried his head in his hands; a strong, pitiful silhouette against the glassy winter light. Ralph bit his lip, angry and agitated with himself for being unable to change the dire situation that had rapidly spiralled out of control. His stomach churned. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a white sheet being pulled up over the old, worn-out body; as though she was an abandoned piece of furniture covered with a dust sheet.

Tears crept, hot and unbidden, to Ralph's eyes and he buried his face in Jack's neck. As the nurses trickled tactfully from the room, they clung together in the half-light, with only each other and an empty body for company.

* * *

Days passed, achingly slowly, and Eric rarely left the confines of his bed. He was liberated from his restraints for brief periods during the day to use the bathroom and to eat meals under strict supervision, but the best part of his time was spent gazing out of the frost-glazed window, watching the snowflakes drift past with an annoying lack of any hint of direction.

There were periods during which Eric seemed to be neither conscious nor unconscious; dark, fleeting times that seemed to last only momentarily, yet the carriage clock on the bedside table proved to be hours upon hours. Dreams haunted him, and he often woke up in a cold sweat. This evening, however, he was alert and tense. Things were about to be set in motion.

A tiny bird alighted on the snow covered window amid a flurry of feathers. Eric's eyes followed its movements hungrily. It was a robin; beautiful ruby breast glimmering like wine in the dark of the night and two beady black eyes that reflected the light of the lamp at Eric's side. It chirruped merrily in the moonlight while hopping about on fragile legs, before ruffling its tail feathers with an air of pride and taking off into the cool winter air, causing a slight scattering of fine white powder.

Eric watched it disappear jealously. How he wished, no, _ached_ to be able to just fling himself into the sky with reckless abandon and vanish into the dark. He closed his eyes. The leather cuffs chafed painfully against the delicate skin of his wrists. He strained against them for a second, almost relishing the agonising battle, before giving up with a grunt of anger.

"_Merridew!"_

He spat the word viciously into the gloom. How he hated that man. A sneer passed across his thin face. That evil bastard was nothing more than a coward, only daring to sneak in while he was restrained. And to think that Ralph trusted that monster… the very thought of his old friend being deceived in such a despicable manner was stomach-turning.

The need for revenge burned in his guts; a physical feeling that seemed to hollow out his body and refill it with all kinds of plots and strategies that shouldn't be conceivable to a human mind.

_It's your duty to protect Ralph, _murmured a soft voice in his ear, _he's your chief. You were one of the only loyal ones when the bastard left with his band of savages and left Ralph all alone… now you're the only one left._ Eric paled considerably. He _was_ the only one left. Simon was probably a few bones half-buried in silt at the bottom of the sea by now, and as for Sam –

He bit his lip. The sharp pain of the loss was still as keen as it had been when he had first found his twin…

"Good evening, chicken," cooed a voice suddenly from the door. The matron was making her last rounds of the ward before all of the doors were bolted.

"Hey," Eric whispered softly, a pitiful expression creeping across his face and all traces of malicious intent melting from his eyes instantly. He coughed weakly a few times, spittle flecking his chin.

"How are you feeling, lovey?" she asked, making her way into the room and bending over his bed. With a mother-like tenderness, she dabbed away the spit and held his forehead firmly with her cool hand, "You don't look very happy."

"I'm alright," Eric said quietly, bestowing a heart-melting smile upon the matron, "I wonder if I could just nip to the bathroom before I go to sleep?"

She tutted and reprimanded him with reproach, "Why didn't you go earlier? Dr Andrews said you were refusing to get out of bed."

"I was tired," Eric said, dropping his eyes before glancing up at her pleadingly through his long fringe, "Please?"

"All right," she agreed huffily, fondness finding its way into her voice even as she half-attempted admonishing her charge. Taking a set of keys from her pocket, she flicked through them until she came to the small, silver one. Eric's eyes gleamed. The feeling of the leather straps loosening was the spark to a heap of tinder wood; excitement and adrenaline immediately began to build up within his chest.

"Up we go, then," said the matron, helping him out of bed. He raised a thin arm and looped it gently through hers, leaning a fair amount of his weight on her. She patted his hand gently and helped him across the room to the bathroom that adjoined it.

"I'm so tired," he breathed, pausing for a moment next to the door, "It's so difficult…"

"I know, lovey," she comforted, giving him a motherly kiss on the forehead, "Just a few more metres and then I'll wait outside for you, hmm?"

He nodded listlessly, letting go of her elbow and taking a small step forward. She smiled at him and turned around slightly, indicating that she would wait outside the door. The second her gaze had left him, Eric sprang.

Like a coiled viper, he exploded from his position and had grabbed her head with both hands before she had even taken her next breath. At once, she opened her mouth to scream, but he was too fast. With a bulge of muscle and a fierce grunt of effort, he dragged her over backwards and dashed her head against the doorframe with a sickening crack, twisting his own body out of the way before it was crushed.

There was silence for several moments. Sweat was dripping steadily from his brow and flinking on the cold linoleum beneath his bare feet. A steady glow of glee was spreading from his heart; _he had done it!_ Barely able to believe his success, he took the set of keys from where they lay splayed on the floor and put them into the pocket of his hospital shift.

As though a great weight had been lifted from him, he stood up and sighed contentedly. The smell of blood was thick and heady in his nose, and he inhaled for a second before stepping carefully over the spread-eagled body and slipping like a shadow through the door and into the dark corridor beyond, avoiding the mess that had spattered on the floor.

The security guard was asleep at his desk. Smirking, Eric headed for the glass doors, intent on making his escape as soon as possible. However, they were locked and he could not find a way of opening them using other means that wouldn't cause a certain amount of noise. The guard snuffled slightly in his sleep, and Eric glanced back warily, ears pricked like a fox. He could feel his pulse in his abdomen; a steady beat of anticipation bordering on sickness.

Impatient to feel the night air on his face, Eric trotted out of the entrance hall and into a toilet nearby. At the other end of the room, past the line of scummy sinks and broken soap dispensers, a small window was propped open on its latch to keep the air in the room fresh. With a small noise of triumph, Eric manoeuvred himself up onto the ledge and remained poised for a second before dropping out of the window like a cat. The snow swallowed his feet at once.

The road had no traffic on it at that time of night. Eric pattered happily to the other side, hospital gown fluttering in the wind, relishing the feeling of the cold air biting his skin. The park was so open, so alive and so very, very white. He stared at the untouched snow with relish, taking in the dark, moist scent of the earth with his mouth and nose.

The weather was the most perfect he could have hoped for. There was a thunderstorm on its way; the clouds thick and heavy with the prospect of rain, and humidity in the air that made it feel wonderfully free.

When he reached the middle of the vast lawn, the rain began; slowly at first, but rapidly building up to be a steady and thunderous rhythm on Eric's head and shoulders. It was absolutely liberating. He leaned his head back, turning his face to the sky and closing his eyes. The beating of the rain against his skin was a brutal re-awakening that revived every shred of hungry revenge that had ever blossomed within him.

"Yes," he whispered to no one. The rain became stronger, trying to beat him into the earth, but he didn't care, in fact, he laughed suddenly; long and loud and evil. With a growl of anticipation, he began to run silently through the snow on numb feet, with only one final destination in his cold, cruel mind. There was no one there to judge him and no one to care; he was alone with his soul and that was a dangerous place.

* * *

Jack and Ralph sat in the living room of Marie's grand house, sorting through piles of her clothes and possessions. Jack had been hesitant to go looking through her old belongings, but as Ralph pointed out, she would have wanted them to be used rather than left to moulder away in some dark cupboard. The curtains were left undrawn so that they could watch the sun setting over the frost-covered garden, sending its wintery light to mingle with the lengthening shadows.

"Charity shop or chuck?" Ralph asked doubtfully, holding up a rather battered pair of sensible brown brogues. Jack considered for a moment.

"Shop."

There was a thud as the shoes made it into the winning pile. The two men had spent the last hour or so sorting through Marie's things, assessing whether there was enough wear in things to make them worth re-use.

"What do you reckon to this?" Jack asked uncertainly, holding up a slightly moth-eaten green cardigan. Ralph eyed it warily, "It's okay, I suppose… was it one she wore a lot?"

"God knows. You knew her practically as well as I did," Jack said disdainfully; a tinge of self-reproach in his voice. The cardigan hit the "chuck" pile with a muffled flop. "God! A whole two years spent under the same roof and we barely knew each other! "

"She knew you, Jack. She loved you," Ralph simply, folding a plain white blouse and placing it carefully onto the charity shop pile, "Anyone could see it from a mile off. And I think that deep down you loved her as well; you're just not letting yourself – ,"

"How sentimental," Jack sneered, "I hardly – ,"

"No," snapped Ralph, shoving the lid of the box closed and rising to his feet. Something that had been niggling away inside him suddenly broke. "I'm not being sentimental. I'm just trying to make you see the bleeding obvious! I'm prepared to bet that, ever since our time on the island, you haven't admitted to yourself that you actually do have feelings like any other human being."

Jack got to his feet as well, still grasping a willow-pattered teapot, perturbed and slightly annoyed by the passion in Ralph's words, "So you think I'm _insensitive, _do you?" he asked in agitation.

"Not at all," Ralph said quietly, "I just think it's time you realised what a bloody waste of love your life has been. You're just scared of losing people, just like we lost people back… back then."

"S-scared?" spluttered Jack, drawing himself up and brandishing the teapot threateningly at Ralph, "I'm not scared of anything! And of _course _I have human feelings! I'm human, aren't I?"

Ralph stared at him through guarded eyes, arms folded coolly across his chest.

"So why won't you say that you love me?"

Jack became very still, eyes bright as he watched Ralph with a strange, choked expression on his face. The blond returned his gaze bravely. Despite being willing to trust Jack with his life, Ralph still felt a sense of unease that was far too deep-rooted to ever be erased. The stirrings of dormant madness that bolted through Jack's irises were elusive, yet Ralph had perfected the fine art of analysing every emotion that those devilish eyes could hold, and could just about clock the danger before it erupted.

Then Jack admitted, breaking the silence with hoarsely whispered words, "Because I don't know how."

Ralph's eyes softened at once, pity and passion twining together in his mind. Jack looked doubtful, uncertain; clutching the teapot to his chest as though trying to hide something behind it. All of a sudden he had lost his protective out shell, the defensive barrier that kept threatening feelings at bay.

"Let me _show_ you how, you moron," Ralph said, half in exasperation, "It's not too late."

"It is for Marie," Jack said in a small voice, looking for all the world like the lost little schoolboy on a desert island; a sharp stick in his hand and muck on his face.

Ralph held out his arms, sympathy overflowing in his heart. Jack stepped into the embrace and wept, years of bottled up emotion escaping as he shook with regret. There was a soft thud as the teapot was dropped, thankfully cushioned by the mangy green cardigan. They stood like that for several minutes; Ralph softly stroking the back of Jack's head.

"It's not too late for _us,_" Ralph insisted fiercely, pressing a heated kiss to his love's neck. The redhead pulled back slightly and forced his lips insistently against Ralph's; hard enough to hurt. The desire to make amends was almost stifling, just like the scent that clung around the blond's neck and sent him halfway into ecstasy.

"Never," he agreed huskily, hands slipping under Ralphs's t-shirt and feeling the hot, smooth skin. The blond closed his eyes and shivered, snuggling closer.

A sudden crack of thunder made the light in the living room flicker. The pair jumped slightly, looking around. Rain was pattering hard against the windowpane; they had barely noticed it starting.

"A storm is coming," said Jack gravely, hands on Ralph's waist. Almost absent-mindedly, he pulled the blond a little closer. They stared out of the dark window together, each keeping silent about the feeling of unease that was spreading in their stomachs; the prickling sensation of being watched by some hidden observer; and the unpleasant feeling that the storm would somehow give flight to the evil that lurked and waited in the night outside.


	13. Paranoia

**A/N:** I am getting way too excited writing this story. Wow. I feel kind of sad that it's almost over but I'm doing my best to make the final chapters as exciting as possible! Not too good for my blood pressure, I don't think. Though the reviews last time were so amazing it was all worth it. To all of the anonymous reviewers: thank you! Hope you enjoy! :D

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies belongs to William Golding.

* * *

Mr Mason flicked through a stapled stack of papers and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He was a smartly dressed, clean cut sort of man who definitely didn't waste his time. Jack and Ralph sat opposite him on the other sofa in Marie's living room, each waiting with nervous kind of anticipation. The crisp December afternoon gave the room a clean, bright atmosphere that did not quite match their moods, but illuminated the lines on their tired faces.

"Neither of you are relatives of Marie Olsen, is that correct?" Mr Mason suddenly enquired, eyes darting up to scrutinise each of them carefully.

"That's correct," said Jack gruffly.

"And I am aware that the dear woman did not have any living relatives to speak of?" he continued, questioning firmly yet kindly.

"Not that we knew of," Jack answered monotonously, another spike of regret peaking in his stomach as he realised he had never bothered to find out. His brain felt dull and muggy; the stress of the past days taking its toll.

"Well," Mr Mason sighed, raising his eyebrows and carefully scanning through the document he held, "A few days before Mrs Olsen passed away, she had her will officially changed to bequeath her entire wealth and property to you two gentlemen. Of course," he added with a slight chuckle, "This is all highly unusual, but there can be no doubt that the two of you are now the sole proprietors of Marie Olsen's entire estate."

There was a stunned silence. The pair stared at him as though he'd just told them that Marie was back from the dead. As the truth began to sink in, the three men became aware of the light rain pattering against the window that had previously gone unnoticed.

"What?" Ralph blurted out stupidly; brain refusing to co-operate with his mouth.

Mr Mason gave them a knowing, professional smile. "It must seem like a lot to take in, I know. The late Mrs Olsen was a very wealthy lady indeed."

"So, this house," Jack began slowly and deliberately, "This is now our house? The house belongs to us?"

"That's right, Mr Merridew. The house belongs to you. Of course, you don't necessarily have to keep it. Putting it on the market would mean you two could split the money gained and use it for your separate means."

"Right," said Ralph numbly, "We'll think about it."

"I'll need you to sign some paperwork, if that's alright," Mr Mason said, passing across two sheets of paper to shocked, clumsy hands. There was a temporary lull in conversation as the two inheritors briefly scanned the impossible words and scrawled their respective signatures on the dotted lines. Without speaking, they pushed their papers back across the table to Mr Mason, who stowed them carefully in his black leather briefcase.

"Do either of you have any questions?" Mr Mason asked politely.

"No…" Jack murmured vaguely, "That will be all. Thank you very much."

"In that case, I'll be off," said Mr Mason briskly, snapping shut the clasps on his briefcase and handing a copy of the document to Jack, who accepted it delicately between thumb and finger, "If you have any questions, please feel free to call me at my office any time."

The three men stood up and shook hands with the murmur of thanks and formalities, before Jack led Mr Mason out of the room and towards the front door. Ralph stood perfectly still, the overwhelming truth still trying to sink into his skin. _Why had Marie included him in her will?_ It had been perfectly evident that the old woman was fond of him, but to leave him half of the rights to her entire estate? Somehow, Ralph thought uneasily, she had been able to see more than generally met the eye.

He sank back down on the sofa, still unable to believe quite how rich he was. The door clicked slightly and he felt Jack enter the room.

"Bloody hell," he said, flopping down beside the Ralph and letting his head fall back tiredly against the cushions.

"My thoughts precisely," said Ralph with a sigh.

"We're keeping the house," said the redhead, without a hint of hesitation.

"Naturally. It's the last safe place. Anyway, I'd hate to think of it in the hands of a stranger so soon after…" Ralph broke off, confused.

Jack put his arm tenderly around the blond's shoulders and gave him a comforting squeeze. "So would I," he said, with a sad smile, kissing the fine hair that adorned Ralph's temple. For a while, the two of them stared out of the window, watching the raindrops chase each other down the dark pane. The afternoon was getting overcast again, as it had the previous night's storm.

"Do you want to come and live here for good?" Jack asked suddenly, softly. Ralph turned slightly, appraising the honest, china-blue eyes that watched him back with such apprehension. In that moment, Ralph was startled – there was nothing bold or arrogant in Jack's expression; just a cautious, hungry vulnerability.

"Okay."

The worry vanished from Jack's face as though it had never been present and was replaced by a wicked, tigerish smirk. "Excellent," he said as his voice darkened seductively, "I can have you all to myself…"

Ralph grinned as Jack nibbled at the skin just below his ear, before a hiss of pleasure was stolen from him as a familiar hot tongue brushed against his jugular. Jack, emboldened by the addictive sound, slipped his hand to the back of Ralph's thigh and pulled him roughly over to face him.

Ralph's heart was hammering fit to bust within his ribcage; breathing hard, he tried to disguise the effect Jack had on him but to no avail. The hunter was watching him with a superior kind of gratification; half-lidded eyes coolly observing Ralph's flushed cheeks, bright eyes with the pupil beautifully dilated and the point on his neck where you could just see his pulse pressing too fast against his smooth skin.

"Might as well sell your flat. No good now he knows where you live."

Ralph nodded, eyes flickering between Jack's eyes with breathless wonder. The prospect of being able to see him; to touch him whenever he wanted sent him almost into deliria.

"He'll never be able to tear us apart," Jack said savagely, the old glint of madness lighting his eyes in the gathering gloom. The storm clouds had grown heavy and swollen in the afternoon sky, sending the day into premature darkness.

"Never," said Ralph huskily, butterflies erupting in his stomach as he kissed his new companion. Their embrace was light and leisurely; hands skimming across warm skin; tongues dancing together in the wet heat of their mouths. The heady aroma of their contrasting scents was an ambrosia to both; quickly stripping them of their inhibitions and fears about what the future held. All that mattered was right there in that moment, with each whisper and breath.

With a soft nip to Ralph's pliant tongue, Jack brought the kiss to a close and surveyed the blond with triumph. It was as though the hunt was finally over and he'd caught a particularly succulent prize. And yet, for the first time, he didn't want to break it.

* * *

The living room was still and the faint wailing of the traffic outside was barely audible. The air in the room seemed stifled by the silence as though it were holding its breath. Due to the ill-fitting window-panes, a slight draught made the net curtain flutter in a soft, sinister manner.

It seemed that no one had been in Ralph's flat for quite some time, judging from the dust that had started to settle on objects that would have been otherwise moved. The whole place seemed to be at rest; the tomb-like silence broken only by the slow, peaceful ticking of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. It was as though the place had fallen into a time of mourning along with its owner.

The shadow of the tree outside flung itself along the pale carpet like long, twisted fingers. It seemed to be stretching out its claws to Eric, who stood like a statue in the centre of the room.

His gaze travelled around slowly, meticulously. He could hear his own heartbeat in the utter quiet and there was a kind of ache in his throat; not quite pain, but a presence. _Where was Ralph?_ He wondered whether Jack had told his lover about the plans to sneak into the institution and pay him an unpleasant visit... _Probably not,_ he thought as his lips pulled themselves up unconsciously into a snarl.

Eric's hospital gown was stuck to his skin by rainwater, which was dripping down to form tiny puddles around his bare, icy feet. The soles were dirty and bloody from walking barefoot for days; he had left faint footprints in winding trails as he had slipped around the flat like a phantom; half expecting to come face to face with Ralph at any moment. He had been disappointed.

Annoyed, he flopped down onto the sofa and sighed. He had better things to do than sit here for ages, waiting for hours on end... supposing Ralph had decided to leave this place vacated for fear of another attack? He mentally reprimanded himself for losing his temper in such a way… _no, he'd have to be more careful next time…_ Several moments passed during which he remained absolutely still, eyes narrowed and plans slipping into place in his mind. One would have assumed he had fallen comatose; so still and rigid he remained.

But then, ever so slowly, he rose from the sofa and stepped towards the coffee table, where a small, black, leather bound book lay open. Interestedly, Eric picked it up and flicked through the thin leaves; names and addresses fluttering like birds in his mind. After a pause, he carefully opened the pages marked 'J' and perused it eagerly, but to no avail. His brow furrowed, disappointment etched in his features, before a cold smirk overtook it and he let the pages fall open to the 'M' section.

After a few minutes of drinking in the words and memorising them, Eric settled the book back onto the table before he turned and floated back across the room to the darkened hall. A few seconds after he disappeared, the sound of the front door being softly closed resonated back to the living room, where the black ink of Jack's carefully written address stood out brightly against the snowy page.

* * *

The streetlights were just flickering alight as Jack and Ralph reached the street that the flat was on. They both had hoods up; telling themselves that it was because of the rain, not because they didn't want hidden eyes to recognise them. The puddles on the pavement splashed under their quick, light footsteps and the trees seemed to whisper and breathe to each other in the evening gloom.

They had left the motorcycle a few streets away; not wanting to attract attention to their arrival at Ralph's place. Jack had seemed anxious to get in and out of the flat as quickly as possible, and Ralph definitely wasn't going to argue.

The rain was getting steadily heavier; pounding the dead, golden leaves into the tarmac with powerful vengeance. The pair broke into a splashy run for the last few seconds, bundling themselves through the door as quickly as they could to avoid saturation. Invigorated by the cold wind and the chill of fear that had accompanied them on their journey; they slipped up the stairs to the upper floors without missing a beat.

Ralph's fingers were almost too cold to handle the keys successfully, but after a few seconds of silent swearwords, he opened the door noiselessly. He looked back at Jack, heart thudding in his throat. Jack nodded; eyes wide and staring in the semi-darkness.

_He won't be here,_ Ralph told himself repeatedly as they moved stealthily into the hall. Every single nerve ending was aflame with adrenaline; every sense tingling to pick up the slightest sign of an intruder. Jack's hand slipped confidently into his, and he gripped it tightly, finding reassurance in its callused warmth.

It was quite dark inside the flat; the dull sun had long since passed below the horizon and the complex of rooms was shadowy and gloomy. As they progressed into the corridor, Jack half-expected Eric to burst from a hidden door and attack them. Mentally chastising himself, he concentrated on searching every nook and cranny that could possibly play host to a hidden watcher. Secretly, in the back of his mind, Jack _hoped_ that his enemy would be found; that they would root him out and kill him like a pig… almost unconsciously, he ran his fingers over the hilt of the hunting knife in his pocket.

However, a few minutes later, they were forced to conclude that their search of the shadowy apartment was fruitless. They stood together in the dark living room, one relieved, one rather let down.

"Can we turn the light on now?" Ralph whispered. Jack slipped across the room and flicked on the switch. Immediately, Ralph let out a shout of terror, one that made fear erupt in Jack's stomach with a sickening lurch. At once, he was by Ralph's side, clutching him tightly and urgently. Thrills of horror ran through him as he saw what the light had revealed; the winding trails of bloody footprints snaking evilly across the carpet in great arcs all around them.

Ralph couldn't control his breathing; it came in harsh, laboured gasps as he took in the terrible scene. "Calm down," Jack pleaded, rubbing the blond's back in the vague hope of comforting him. He couldn't keep his eyes from following the awful trails that looped in paths around the flat. They seemed to shimmer as though invisible feet were printing and reprinting the marks again and again.

Ralph squeezed his eyes shut, panic filling his ears and nose. He pressed himself as tightly as he could against Jack, trying to burrow into his jacket. The sheer, hideous horror of the shock he had received had sent shivers all over his body; his teeth were chattering. As his breathing gradually slowed, he buried his face into the curve of Jack's neck, pretending that the world had vanished around them.

"It's alright," Jack continued shakily, trying to keep his voice under control. He wrapped his arms around his lover and gently stroked his hair, "I'm here."

But Ralph wriggled free from his grasp and moved numbly towards the coffee table. As though in slow motion, he picked up the address book and stared, appalled, at the page it had been opened on.

"Oh, God."

Jack strode over and snatched the book, scanning the page briefly. His face visibly paled; eyes widening and filling with panic. Backing away slightly, he observed the collection of footprints by the table and the dark, sinister patches that glistened ever so slightly. Then, with a snarl of disgust, he threw the leather book back down onto the table. For several seconds, the only sounds audible were Jack's angry, harsh breaths, the faint crackling of broken pages and the never-ceasing rain as it drummed insistently against the glass.

"What are we going to do?" Ralph asked hoarsely, gripping his hair with both hands.

"The question is: _how did he escape_?" Jack shot back, beginning to pace about the room like a caged lion. Thoughts were streaming through his head with at a dizzying velocity; Eric's dark, beady eyes watching him from the sockets of a skeletal head; the cracked leather restraints with a few coppery flakes of blood on the edges…

"We have to call the institution," said Ralph; thoughts coming together in a more rational manner now that the first wave of panic had subsided slightly, "We have to find out everything they know."

"Yes," Jack said feverishly, coming to a sudden halt and running a harassed hand through his hair. "It's almost dark," he added solemnly, staring out of the frosted glass, "We have to get home and check _everywhere. _Then we sleep in shifts; taking it in turns to keep a lookout." The old administrative side of him was resurfacing and unfurling its wings; a sharp, cunning brain that was able to plot, plan and think like a killer.

Ralph nodded gravely. For a few seconds, they exchanged a look of resignation, before they turned as with one mind and made their silent way back out into the hall, automatically locking the door behind them.

* * *

_Eric was standing by the window, silhouetted against the misty moon. A strong, chilly draught was pushing its way into the room through the jagged hole in the glass pane. Papers and books shivered in the breeze like butterflies' wings and a few leaves flew around the room in wide, confused arcs._

"_What are you doing here?" Ralph heard himself say bitterly, "Come to gloat, have you?"_

_Eric said nothing, but gave a horrible smile, completely cold and lacking emotion. He stood with his arms folded defensively, jaw jutting out as though daring Ralph to make a complaint. Then, slowly dragging his gaze from Ralph's in a 'follow-me' gesture, he turned around and began to walk away._

_Ralph staggered after him; feet continuously catching the wildly tangled grass that was whipped by the merciless wind. The air was salty and freezing, quickly pulling goosebumps from his skin and forcing his teeth to chatter. The room had vanished: where was he? Fear began to flutter its wings in his stomach and he licked his dry lips, suddenly aware of a terrible, burning thirst._

_Eric was standing by a tombstone that stood alone under a willow tree, his long greatcoat pressed against his frame by the powerful wind. Ralph stumbled closer, almost falling as the tendrils of weeds clung wetly around his ankles. His eyes were clouding up; how would he be able to read the name inscribed in the stone? But before he could take another step, the ground opened up like jaws and he fell…_

Ralph's eyes opened with a faint, wet flick. Sweat clung to the fine hair on his temple and stuck his white t-shirt to his back. He immediately became aware of his breathing; quick, quiet pulls of air that seemed to only enhance his panic rather than soothe it.

"Nightmare?"

Jack was sitting in a chair next to the bed, chin propped wearily on his hand. His hair was tousled and his eyes were dull with a lack of sleep, but he maintained a careful eye and pricked ear for any sound of movement. Now though, his eyes were watching Ralph softly, not betraying anything.

Ralph nodded blearily, unravelling himself slowly from the sweaty tangle of sheets. He felt sick. Wiping a hand across his forehead, he grimaced at the cool, clammy feel of his skin before flopping tiredly back against the pillows.

"Is it my watch yet?" he asked dully.

"Not for another hour," Jack replied quietly. He stretched out a hand and smoothed aside a damp lock of hair that was plastered to Ralph's skin, "Go to sleep." He bent smoothly and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the blond's forehead.

Ralph sighed and drew the duvet up tightly around himself. The sweat was cold on his body and he felt ill. The hum of the night-time traffic was, for once, pressing in on his consciousness rather than blending into the background. Now that he thought about it, every sound of the darkness was defined and amplified. Every cough of a motorcar's engine, every gust of wind, every footstep… he shot up in bed.

Jack had heard it too. At once, he had sprung noiselessly from his seat; muscles taut and poised; hand gripping the flashlight that they had put on the bedside table just in case. His blue eyes had adopted the mad, bolting look that told tales of a haunted, bloody past.

Ralph slipped silently out of bed and stood next to the redhead, blood pouring through his veins like battery acid. They stood perfectly still.

_Again._ They heard the soft creak of floorboards on the floor below. Ralph's heart leapt into his throat as Jack started forwards.

"I'm going after him," the redhead breathed, the dangerous excitement evident upon his face.

Ralph swallowed his heart and gritted his teeth. Trying to banish the fear that throbbed in his stomach, he grabbed Jack's hand and dug his nails in. Jack squeezed back, barely thinking. His mind was elsewhere.

_Again._ The sound of a door clicking downstairs flared up to their aching ears.

Jack began to move. Ralph followed, practically able to _smell_ the adrenaline that he could see shimmering in the sweat on Jack's upper lip. Hands clasped, they edged towards the open bedroom door and listened, staring blindly into the darkness that enveloped the corridor. And then, sending thrills of horror up their spines, they heard the soft, echoing sound of bare feet creeping up the spiral staircase…


	14. Smoke

**A/N:** Well, my loves… the final chapter. Thank you very much to anybody who has stuck this story through to the end, in particular my beautiful reviewers. You guys mean so much to me, so I hope this last instalment lives up to expectations. I don't know whether I'll be writing any new material (which would almost definitely be for Lord of the Flies, Inglourious Basterds or Harry Potter) within the near future; school is back with full force and finding time for writing is a struggle. But whether I do or not, huge thanks to everyone who left kind messages

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Flies belongs to William Golding.

Eric reached the top of the spiral staircase; ears carefully pricked for any sounds. His feet were numb against the rough carpet and he could barely feel his fingers for the cold. The hospital gown he wore was ragged and filthy, sticking to his skin with a heady combination of sweat and rainwater.

Cautiously prowling across the landing, Eric slipped through the door into the kitchen, where the fridge hummed in an odd, eerie manner. His eyes roved thoughtfully around the room, alighting first upon the magnetic rack of knives before sweeping across to critique the heavy marble chopping board. Cogs turned quietly in his brain. His fingers itched to select a weapon, but the soft voice in his mind wheedled otherwise. For several moments he waited, poised on the agony of indecision.

Eventually, he relaxed, and floated from the room. He agreed that his bare hands would more than suffice.

He could almost feel the friction of his blood against the walls of his veins. Each pulse of his heart sent a fresh wave of toxic anticipation to form on the surface of his skin and gleam slightly in the half-light. He crept through to the living room; nose wrinkling as it picked up Jack's scent; the spicy, dark musk that clung to everything he touched. Eric blinked slowly, almost aware of his own dark pupils dilating to drink in the darkness.

It seemed as though there wasn't a living soul in the house, but there was the lingering sense that he was being watched somehow. Eric knew that nobody would be able to creep up on him unawares thanks to his retained hunting instincts, but still, the prickling feeling on the back of his neck remained. The moonlight sent long, stretching, silver shadows across the carpet, illuminating every corner of the room. Eric glanced around meticulously, before gliding out of the living room and heading into the studio.

He slipped through the open door without a sound, unwillingly awestruck by the unexpected magnitude of the room. It was cold, he noticed, very cold… and the silvery light was gleaming off paint that was ferociously applied to a canvas that stretched along the opposite wall. At once, all careful planning melted from his mind as he strode forward in disbelief, breathing accelerating as shock began to set in. It was as though all of his deepest, most closely guarded nightmares had been re-created and displayed for the world to see.

The rough, bloody hue of the sky on the canvas was threatening and vivid; just as crimson as the ribbons of Piggy's brains as they lay tangled on the rock in the ocean… each tiny figure that had been inked to life seemed to watch him, judge him for the crimes he had committed. They were pouring through the painted trees just as they had done at the bitter end. _His final betrayal._ He whimpered, screwing up his eyes to try and blot out the memory, but it was too late. Too late now, too late ever. Without warning, his hands were tearing viciously at the paintings; nails scrabbling wildly at the resistant surface. His eyes watered with the effort and he kept his teeth clenched tightly; not willing to allow the tiny, muffled sobs in his throat to escape.

It was futile. The hard, shell-like exterior of the paint was resistant to his frenzied ministrations and retained its shape with cruel arrogance. With a sudden overwhelming sensation of being utterly out of his depth, Eric whirled around and ran, but skidded to a halt with the screech like that of a witch-like bird. Jack, as though lifted to life from the haunting artwork, stood before him in the doorway, blocking the way out.

"No escape!" the redhead snarled in a brutal, rough voice; hair spiking up like a wolf's hackles, teeth glistening bone white in the moon's rays. The sinuous muscles in his forearms bulged with tension. Eric shuddered; a great spasm that wracked his whole spine with great waves of bitterness as he realised that he had been beaten at his own game.

Ralph appeared silently at Jack's shoulder, his face half hollowed out by a shadow. There was a terrible expression of sadness on his face, tinged with a bitter resentment that seemed to chase away any traces of innocence that had once shone in his youthful, handsome face. He looked almost emaciated in the dappled moonlight, as though the twisted journey they'd shared had aged him far beyond his years. Eric stared at him, unable to comprehend that he was seeing; an angel and a demon united.

"You betrayed me," he said to Ralph in barely more than a whisper, eyes flashing with mulish resentment; a curiously child-like reaction to the situation they found themselves in. A stripe of sweat shimmered on his unshaved upper lip and he wiped it shakily away with a finger that tapered into a long, long nail.

Ralph returned his stare stubbornly, refusing to drop his gaze. Beside him, Jack silently flexed his muscles, semi-consciously readying himself for the fight he so feverishly hoped for.

"You couldn't have imagined my disgust," Eric continued in a malevolent voice, beady eyes fixed on the two of them. He paused for a moment, staring eyes becoming fixed on something invisible, before he continued, "How could I even begin to comprehend the thought of my last loyal friend breaking my trust in such a cruel way?" Here, he fell silent and swallowed; two fat tears welling up and spilling down his pale cheeks.

"I didn't," Ralph eventually said in a rough voice, refusing to crack. The sight of a fully grown man beginning to cry was deeply unsettling. "It wasn't my fault."

Eric narrowed his eyes, so that the puffy, reddened skin around the lids was emphasized. He looked distinctly reptilian with his teeth bared. More angry tears were collecting in the corners of his eyes, and Ralph could no longer distinguish the border between pity and hatred within the dark recesses of his own mind. Nevertheless, he pushed unhelpful feelings away and focused on the immediate action that had to be taken.

"Eric, this has to stop now," Ralph began diplomatically, taking a tiny step into the room and stopping, seeing that his actions were causing a defensive rigidness to come over his opponent's body, "You're really ill, and this isn't all your fault."

"I know precisely whose fault it was," Eric suddenly barked, the imminent threat in his voice rising in an ominous crescendo as he turned his bulbous, bloodshot eyes to leer at Jack's belligerent face. "It's all his fault now, and it was all his fault years ago."

"What, so it's my fault you're a murdering psychopath?" Jack spat viciously, derision lacing his words. Ralph closed his eyes wearily; he had hoped that the inevitable meeting of two belligerent parties would somehow be resolved. He should have taken into consideration the fact that a peaceful Jack Merridew was a complete oxymoron.

Eric, meanwhile, was brought up short; a questioning expression drawing his brows together. He narrowed his eyes, searching Jack's face for a something hidden. "How did you know about her?" he asked, very slowly.

There was an extremely pregnant pause. Ralph's confusion was souring with every moment and turning into the one emotion that he had hoped to escape – fear. _Eric was a murderer… _Ralph glanced swiftly to his right. Jack's face was mirroring his own thoughts; lips parted with shock and gaze flicking frantically between the snake's eyes that watched them from next to the painting. Eric's fingernails were torn right back to the quick; his frantic scrabbling had made his fingertips raw and bloody.

"You've killed a woman?" Ralph breathed, hardly able to believe that those words were coming from his lips. The room seemed to tilt.

"Don't act innocent," Eric snapped, beginning to advance towards them. He looked utterly mad; eyes swollen and fiendish, lips drawn back in an almost feral grimace and the hospital gown clinging to his clammy flesh with his own sweat, "Don't _pretend_ to be shocked," he added, his eyes flickered tantalisingly, almost daringly between the two of them, "I am quite aware that you're fucking a murderer."

The tension hung from a thread, which snapped. Ralph's face contorted with fury as he lunged forwards with every intention of beating the evil, smug look from the murderer's face. He had lost the last shreds of rationality or concern for his damaged arm. Eric's eyes widened in shock; he had expected an attack, if any, to come from the brutal redhead who had taken such grisly delight in harming him during previous encounters. At the last second, he dodged sideways and delivered Ralph a glancing blow as he passed.

All at once, Eric was vibrant with adrenaline, high with euphoria at the now familiar feeling of satisfied sadism. It was like a shark scenting the first tiny swirls of blood; it seemed to Jack and Ralph that the intruder was descending into a frenzy.

"Ralph, get out of here!" Jack bellowed, bounding forwards with the mad, bolting look in his blue eyes. Ralph didn't hesitate to obey the barked orders; he pelted back through the door to the hall to the telephone. He dialled the emergency number with shaking fingers, cringing every time he heard a crash from the studio. His hands were sweaty; he could barely hold the receiver steadily against his ear.

Jack was in a delirium – he could feel no pain as Eric's wild blows thudded against his chest and jaw, but still the satisfaction of feeling flesh crunch under his knuckles was poignant and delectable. Eric was scratching at his bare arms and Jack hissed in pain as he felt his skin tearing when the grappling pair twisted and fell heavily.

Eric grunted as Jack's weight knocked all of the air out of his lungs, but he did not stop writhing like a rat caught in a trap. The veins in his arms and neck were outstanding with the exertion and his eyes were bulging from his skull as though under pressure. Jack drew back his fist and thrust it straight back like a piston; relishing the howl of pain that was torn from his victim's lips.

"I'll kill you before you _ever_ touch Ralph!" he snarled, punctuating his threat with a vicious cuff to Eric's already bleeding face.

Eric caught fingers in his mouth and bit down, hard. Jack gave a yelp of pain and released his grasp on the base of the murderer's throat. It was all Eric needed. With a stinging slap to Jack's face, Eric rolled out from under his attacker's body and ripped himself free, panic catching his breath and sending it out in painful shudders.

Jack roared in anger, rolling onto all fours and springing up. At that moment, Ralph sprinted back into the room, skidding slightly as he stopped dead, mouth hanging slightly open. Jack turned around sharply to follow Ralph's gaze, only to halt in his tracks, ignoring the dribble of blood that was sliding from the corner or his mouth. There was a deathly silence.

Eric had leapt up onto the top of the workbench, and was standing next to the window. A heavy feeling settled in Ralph's gut as he realised he implications behind the net curtain which fluttered so softly in the night air and the open window that had been flung open as far as it could go; a space easily large enough to accommodate a man. Eric stood silhouetted against the sickle moon, the breeze ruffling his matted hair and pressing the bloody, stained gown against his thin frame.

"Get down from there," Ralph commanded quietly. His voice was steady but his nerves were screaming at him in protest.

Eric did not reply. The expression on his face was one of breathless anticipation; his eyes seemed to brighten with lunar madness and his lips were parted. He licked his lips quickly, gaze flicking between the gaping hole into the night and the two men who stood as though petrified, watching him.

"Eric, if you come down now, neither of us will hurt you," Ralph continued firmly, trying vainly to ignore the nausea that contracted his guts. Jack gave him a sly, sidelong glance that went unnoticed.

Eric edged closer to the window, letting his fingers flutter down to touch the neighbouring windowpane. Ralph drew a shuddering breath somewhere in the haze behind him.

"Please."

Eric wasn't listening. He could see a robin perched on the branch of a tree nearby. It hopped a few steps, blinked a pair of beady, dark eyes at him, before giving a merry little chirrup. A half-smile pulled at Eric's lips as the sound enchanted him in the way it would a child. The tiny bird ruffled its feathers, hopped a few steps and took off, disappearing into the night's sky and fading to nothing. Eric closed his eyes. He could smell the rain in the air, feel the breeze against his hair and hear the sounds of the traffic three storeys below. He spread his wings as well. And he flew.

_Thirteen days later._

Marie's funeral was over, and the hordes of people who had turned out to pay her their last respects were drifting away. Ralph stalked after Jack out of the crematorium doors, both of them narrowing their eyes in the white December sunlight. Their limbs were stiff from sitting in the uncomfortably chilly wooden pews and the dull shock of what had just transpired was numbing to both body and soul.

Jack's mouth was as dry as cardboard. He moved his tongue distastefully, hating the feeling. "Do you want to visit...?" he trailed off raspily, motioning out of the gate towards the graveyard.

Ralph nodded dejectedly. Jack's brow furrowed slightly at the sight and slipped his arm around the slighter man's waist, gently tugging him away from the unsightly grey building and all of the memories it contained within its cold walls. They passed through the wrought-iron gates in silence, each of them absorbing the ethereal sight of the snowy tombstones that sparkled iridescently in the sunlight under the canopy of twisting tree branches.

For several minutes, the pair walked dully through the tufty grass; footsteps accompanied by the soft crushing sound of the snow beneath their soles. They did not speak, but walked in brooding silence, Jack stroking the back of Ralph's hand with the pad of his thumb.

They made their way towards the outskirts of the graveyard, where the carefully tended grass became more straggly and wild, and the trees began to take on a distinctly more weather-beaten stance. The sounds of the cars departing from the crematorium gradually disappeared and in a few more minutes' time, the pair came to a halt.

Ralph sighed, gazing down at the small headstone that still bore the signs of fresh implantation; the overspill of soil around the base of the stone and the clean cut edges of the lettering. Jack did not look, but gazed deliberately back in the direction they had come from. The faint lines around his eyes creased slightly as he looked against the pale sunlight, and the inherent sadness remained forever stained on his china-blue irises.

"Look," he said softly.

Ralph turned around and stared back through the trees to where they could just see a faint spire of smoke spiralling up through the gentle breeze and dispersing in the whiteness of the sky. Neither of them spoke, but they both shared the feeling of finality; Marie's last traces had been freed to the four winds and would never be seen again.

Ralph slipped his hand into Jack's and squeezed tightly, taking comfort in the feel of rough, warm skin. They stood like that for several more minutes as the sun began to fade, watching the hazy line of smoke disappearing into the cold winter's afternoon. When the heavens opened and the rain began to fall lightly, the pair of them started to make their wandering way back through the trees, leaving the small cross that stood alone amongst the wild grass.

It remained there untouched for years on end, the brief inscription gradually fading to nothing as wind and rain weathered the stone. And after ivy and moss spread unchecked to cover it entirely, and the weeds grew rank and untended, no one knew that there was a lost brother there, buried under the wrong name.


End file.
